Star Wars KOTOR II: The Final Waltz
by Dante-Raven
Summary: Post KOTOR II, 2 years since the Exile left: will nothing stop the Sith and their conquest? Dante and Atton escape Nar Shaddaa, and Rena ponders the finer points of the Republic...
1. Prologue

**Author's Notes: Well, I had promised a final chapter to the tale of my own character Dante Ravenmoon, and here it is. For everyone who has reviewed _Catharsis _and _Way of the Force_, I'd like to thank you all, and I'd like to thank those who became caught up with _Catharsis_ and began to like this strange, if not idealic character. I don't know for what reasons some of you may like him, or the portrayal of other signature characters, but what I know is that Dante has evolved to a level beyond my own understanding--and this is just through a trio of stories that really are poorly written next to the general outline of KOTOR. The stories are based on the background of everything that has transpired in the games, ranging from the Mandalorian Wars to just shortly after KOTOR II: The Sith Lords. In either case, if anyone is just looking for a story that started off cobbled together by the random machinations of some guy's twisted mind, then by all means, read this. No matter what, you all have my thanks at helping me take my writing this far. Don't be afraid to leave a review or two--it only helps me grow as a writer and improve the quality of entertainment for everyone here. **

**This is just a general rundown of the whole story so far: in _Way of the Force_, Darth Malak's war machine was beating back the Jedi and the Republic. A handful of Jedi are sent on a mission to recover a lost artifact that eventually ends up being the apple of a mysterious Sith's eye. Through several fateful encounters, Dante Ravenmoon, a young Jedi Knight eventually confronts this mysterious Sith, who, in turn, reveals himself to be none other than someone from Dante's past, once thought lost to the Mandalorian Wars. It is in this encounter that he also finds the love of another, one who begins to help him find his way and eventually start him down the path that he falls into by _Catharsis_. It follows the last year of the Jedi Civil War.**

**_In Catharsis, _Dante, along with a battered Council, finds themselves struggling from the aftermath of not only the Jedi Civil War, but the Silent War waged by the Sith Lords Nihilus and Sion. While training his Padawan, a mysterious young woman named Rena Naver, Dante stumbles onto the beginnings of a war being waged by one of their own. Consumed by his demons, the Jedi Knight continues to fight for what he believes is the key to ending the age-old hatreds between the Jedi and the Sith. In the process, the truth and origins of his apprentice begin to gnaw at him and as time grows on, the Sith reveal themselves, attempting to destroy not only the infrastructure of the Republic, but those who would hold the Republic strong against the power of the Sith. With unlikely new allies and old enemies, Dante finds himself assailed by all corners, inexorably finding the grim truth behind the Exile and Revan's disappearance. **

**Now the Jedi Knight finds that he has to walk a fine line between Light and Dark, fighting to preserve everything he's worked so hard to build. Renouncing his Jedi oath and taking up arms to search for Revan, the Exile and someone whom he cares most about, Dante may end up taking the Mantle of Dark Lord, unless he can find the misplaced strength he had in order to carry out the final task asked of him...**

* * *

Star Wars

Knights of the Old Republic II

The Final Waltz

_Prologue _

Their blades clashed against each other, one brilliant emerald and the other a furious ruby, both of which cut a swath of light through the night sky. The sound of crackling energy and grunts of effort echoed into the night sky.

She watched him work his blade around her defences and she took careful measurements, blocking and deflecting the thrusts and flurries he delivered unto her.

Rena didn't know who the mysterious figure was, though she knew only the danger he possessed.

His scarlet blade arced up and came crashing down on her lightsaber, sparking and whining with the touch of energy on energy.

"You can't win," she cried, her muscles weary and her body sore from the fight that had seemed to last what seemed an eternity. "You'll find that my powers vastly outweigh your own and I will strike you down."

The figure laughed, strafing back and twirling his lightsaber in a figure eight. "You can try," he retorted, his voice cold and mirthless. "But it would be the doorway to your own death. You can't beat me—I have experience and skill on my side. Just relying on the raw power of the Force isn't what you'll need to save you."

She wiped her sweat soaked face, clad in a sleeveless tunic that was fixed with a belt and her formfitting breeches. Her attire matched his, though he was obscured in complete black. He wore a cloak as dark as the night itself that billowed and seemed to draw in all of the light surrounding it. It billowed around him, seemingly with a mind of its own, and where it didn't cover his body, she could only make out the signs of obsidian armour that seemed to petrify anything in its wake.

"You're growing weary," he continued, his voice deep and filled with a cold fury that seemed to grow continuously through the Force.

Rena could feel her body growing tired, though she knew better. He was trying to trick her, and though his insidious presence seemed repulsive, it also seemed alluring in a strange way.

There was something familiar about the way he walked, yet alien in the way he spoke and fought.

There seemed to be hints drawn about his body, and though she couldn't make it out, she readied her lightsaber, knowing he'd come in for another bout of flurries and strikes that could send her back.

He was telling the truth: her abilities were no match for him.

"Are you ready to meet your fate, Rena?" He asked her, stepping closer towards her, causing her to take an involuntary step back and nearly tripping for the effort.

It was only now that she realized where she was.

The world around her seemed to teem in darkness absolute, with strange creatures and the twisted side of nature that seemed to allow plant growth all over their field of battle. A strange murky fog seemed to creep between them, leaving them to stare at one another with the anticipation of who would strike first.

She tried to peer into the dark shadows that his hood covered, but she couldn't make out anything. Even through the Force he felt alien—almost as if he were artificial. Recoiling in the Force, she couldn't help but feel repulsed.

The dark allure of the Force seemed to wrap itself around him and reach out carefully, its tendrils slithering across the field towards her.

Readying her lightsaber, she lunged, driving her blade towards his chest, to which he quickly deflected, leaving her to pirouette and slash at his neck.

His blade seemed to greet hers effortlessly, and his movements seemed to almost welcome her to continue her attacks.

Crying out, she kept up her onslaught of ruthless flurries and cleaves, hoping to find a break in his impregnable defences.

With one hand he continued to roll his lightsaber, blocking and parrying her slashes and thrusts to one side, until he lashed out with writhing blue energy from his right hand.

Caught off-guard, she absorbed the blue tendrils of electricity and screamed as she flew back towards an abnormally large tree, colliding against the thick trunk and gasping for air. On her knees and hands, she coughed violently, panting heavily, until she looked up and saw his foot slam into her face, sending her rolling.

For the abuse she took, she couldn't help but find surprise in that she still had her lightsaber in hand. Rising, she growled and reactivated the energy blade, jumping into another array of deadly flurries that would overwhelm any normal opponent.

This dark man, however, was no ordinary opponent. He seemed to read her movements, knew exactly when to strike and seemed to stand against her natural strength in the Force.

For all intents and purposes, Rena found the dark man to be beyond her own strength, just as he had said. She very well found herself wondering whether the man was truly a Sith Master or some creature beyond the Force itself.

He deflected each strike, pirouetting with each thrust she made, his dark cloak billowing around him, almost as if it fought as one with the dark being.

"It is useless to resist," he said. "Give up now, and I might yet show you mercy."

Growling, she continued to assail him relentlessly, her lightsaber weaving arcs of emerald light that tore through the dark flora and fauna around her, yet placing not a single wound on the powerful figure.

"Yes," he hissed, deflecting her blade and twisting the angle of both blades until they were locked. "Use your anger, strike me down and feel the power of the Dark Side call to you. This is but the first step—a small taste of the Dark Side!"

Mustering all her strength, she continued to hold on to the lock, struggling with him, her eyes locked with the infinite darkness beneath the hood.

"Accept it—you are like the father!"

Snarling, she lashed out with the Force and sent him hurling towards a tree, colliding with it and quickly rising to his feet.

She heard him laugh a deep grating laugh that pierced her heart.

"You have strength and the power to defeat those around you. Your father used it, and now you can use it, unless your fear masters you?"

"I am not like him!" She yelled, her knuckles turning bone white from the grip she held on her blade. "I am nothing like him!"

The voice continued to bellow with laughter. "So why do you fear me so readily? You are turning to the same anger he has. You are every bit like your father—the progenitor Revan. You have his strength, his looks, and his temper."

Growling with blind fury, she lashed out again, her lightsaber whirling around her, forming a deadly barrier of energy that eviscerated anything in its wake.

He continued to keep up his defence, blocking her strikes and her powerful combinations of slashes and thrusts.

"I am nothing like him! I will never be like him!" She cried with each and every strike, unwittingly pushing the mysterious figure back.

"Perhaps you're right," he replied, "perhaps you're weak and a failure!"

She whipped her lightsaber around her, quickly snapping back and knocking his lightsaber away. Seizing the moment, she arced her blade upwards and in moments, smelled the gratifying scent of burned flesh.

The figure didn't cry out, he merely stumbled and stepped back, his lightsaber flying off with his hand. "Perhaps you're not as weak as Revan," he said, not even showing an ounce of pain or fear of his imminent death.

She took a step towards him, her lightsaber pointed towards where she assumed his neck was in the darkness of the hood. Not even the glow of her lightsaber shone on his features. The darkness behind the hood was what terrified her and she fought to suppress a chill.

Then, almost as if to show the figure had a human quality, the head tilted in a familiar teasing manner. "Or perhaps you fear delivering the final blow?"

"A Jedi knows no fear," she spat, "but I wouldn't expect a _Sith_ to know that."

The figure chuckled, "no, I would suppose not."

On edge and feeling her adrenaline wearing down, she could feel something wrong begin to creep down her spine.

"But then again, perhaps you can prove it by delivering the final blow."

She clenched her jaw and narrowed her oceanic blue eyes. She could feel his dark soulless eyes staring into hers. "By all means, let me go right ahead and end this for you," she hissed, bringing her blade up.

The figure laughed and with his right hand, he quickly removed the hood as the blade came down.

She gasped, watching a sadistic grin plastered to his face.

The face was one she had been familiar with for so long, and her heart ached as the blade neatly severed his head below the neck.

Crying out, she watched the once promising Master Dante Ravenmoon collapse, the sadistic grin marking the finality of his victory on Rena.

Collapsing on the floor, she gaped at the headless corpse and dropped her lightsaber. Picking up his head, she screamed into the air before she felt the weight of the world crash into her, sucking her down into its spiral before she became nothing more than a speck of thought.

* * *

Shooting up from the cot, she gasped and cried out, covered in sweat and ignoring the pain that ran up from her legs, signaling the spasms that woke her up. She looked around and found the sudden darkness of the room against her liking. Quickly rising from the bed she hobbled and stretched her burning legs, until the pain was gone for a few brief moments. 

Sweat ran down her face, marring her shoulder length hair and staining her clothing.

Sitting down at the corner of her bed, she curled her legs to her chest and lowered her head, crying.

She knew where she was and she knew the purpose they wanted her to serve.

The one place she wanted to be was the one place she couldn't be.

Dante, the man and Master she had secretly loved, was far beyond her reach and their bond was fading fast.

The sudden darkness that seemed to replace it was growing and in the back of her mind, she couldn't help but feel scared that everyone she had loved was going to change for the worse. Sighing and wiping away the tears that mingled with her now cooling sweat, she let out a low whimper, and closed her eyes.

This had been the fifth time in the week that she had a nightmare of darkness running into the world, each time involving someone close. The last time she had the nightmare, it had involved Revan.

This time, Dante's presence had unnerved her and she couldn't help but wonder what the Force had in store for the Galaxy. The thought of killing Dante rested uneasily with her and she found her hands shaking violently at the mere idea of her Master's potential death.

With the Sith on the move again and Revan fighting them at every turn, Rena couldn't help but wonder what role Dante would play. She whimpered again, wishing for better times when she was inseparable from her Master. Now they were on the opposite sides of the Galaxy and she didn't know if Dante was searching for her or if he had even survived the Sith assault on Coruscant.

All she knew was that by the time dawn came, she'd be put to more ruthless tests in shaping her to become a Sith tool, much like her brother Deus.

In the end, she'd be forced to make a choice: join the Sith or kill herself.

The latter seemed to be the more effective option for her. She would gladly kill herself if it meant depriving the Sith the chance of using her as a weapon against the people she loved.

The only question that bothered her was why Dante appeared different in her dream than the other ones she had. Revan had been clad in his old robes and mask, yet Dante was clad as a darker spectre of himself.

It put Rena on edge.

If she had to face Dante, would he be a Jedi or a Sith?

For that matter, she wondered about another terrifying prospect that shook her to the core.

If it came down to it, would she be able to kill the man she loved who also happened to be her Master? She rose, and looked to the stars in her suite. There was something that terrified her and she didn't know what it was.

The Galaxy seemed to be reaching its boiling point—war was coming and Rena didn't know what it would mean for her and Dante.

In the end, the only ones who really knew what would happen to the Galaxy were Revan and the mysterious Lord Julius. Everyone else was just collateral damage and pawns in their fight.


	2. Cold Trail

_Cold Trail _

Darkness encroached across the large cities of Nar Shaddaa. Lives were lost in the transition, many finding shelter for the night in order to survive the challenges of the next day, whilst others simply retired in their less-than modest abodes, looking down on the city that never truly slept and laughed at the misfortunes of the weak. For what seemed countless centuries, life on the "Smuggler's Moon" had become increasingly difficult as more slaves and refugees encroached across the land mass.

Those who had become affluent in the seedier districts had risen to the higher levels of the city-wide moon, yet they would never truly escape the misery of the world. Home to smugglers, thugs, criminals and bounty hunters, Nar Shaddaa would have been the polar opposite to Coruscant, though that wasn't to say Coruscant didn't have its own share of seedy elements.

The Exchange, under the leadership of the enigmatic Goto, had removed its six-year dormant Jedi bounty, confident that the new presence of the Jedi Order and the Galactic League, now under the complete leadership of Forn Dodonna and her military staff, would pose a significant threat to its operations. In the growing changes the Galaxy had to offer, one thing hadn't changed: the Senate would forever be as corrupt as it was in its previous state. The Republic may no longer exist, yet the Galactic League employed almost a similar platform to that of the Old Republic. It would only be a matter of time until the Exchange blackmailed the needs of certain Senators for actions that would work in their favour. As long as the League employed its corrupt Senators, nothing would change, only the name.

Sitting in one of the darkest and mangy cantinas he had ever seen, his eyes roamed through the cheap cigarra smoke and the glowing haze of deathsticks, eager to find his quarry. He sipped his Corellian ale, almost positive that it was the cheap Nar Shaddaa mix that had a Corellian label slapped onto the tap.

The cantina was filled tonight, mainly comprising of unsavoury characters—naturally—that made the underworld cantinas on Coruscant seem like a trip to Membrosia Heaven. Dancers, prostitutes, pazzaak game sharks, bounty hunters and a few people that seemed as if they were at home occupied the cantina, making it much harder for him to keep his eye on his target. People filed in and out, while waitresses in scantily clad clothes that made the dancers seem like religious zealots tended to their clients.

For all that could be said about Nar Shaddaa, Dante had to agree that Atton was right about one thing: it hardly ever grew dull. It was a perfect place for someone who didn't want to be found and it was a perfect place for someone who could smile amicably while driving a knife through another's back.

It seemed to Dante that they were looking for the former over the latter. There was someone here they knew didn't want to be found, and it may very well be one of the few people who could help them find their cooling trail. It had only been three months since their hunt went cold, and the last reading that Dante had taken had landed their quarry near Nar Shaddaa.

Taking another sip of his cheap ale, Dante leaned back on the couch in his booth. The torn couch filled with spongy material added to the depth of the cantina and it made him all the more wary. Even the tables had carbon scoring that no one had ever bothered to clean up. As dingy as it was, this was the best chance the pair had towards getting closer to their goal.

Reaching out into the Force, Dante could feel the dark swirl of remorse, hatred and other sick twisted desires that made his stomach lurch uneasily. There was something awfully comforting about it, yet there was something that horribly repulsed him from delving more into the feeling of the dark world. Even now, with his skills more honed than before, Dante refused to rely on his trust to the Force, opting to improve his other senses while he trained Atton to perfect his ability with the Force.

For four months, Dante and Atton had been searching tirelessly, however for the last two and a half months; they had been stuck on Nar Shaddaa, without any sign that would lead them to finding Lotus and Rena. His mind had been heavily bent on those two lately, wondering what cruelties Lotus was inflicting on his dear Rena. She may be young and a clone of Revan, but she was still his apprentice, and he knew how far Lotus would stoop to lure Dante to her.

What she wanted was something he could never give—at least, not willingly.

He took another sip, hoping to let the dank allure of the tinted golden beverage wash away his misgivings. Rena was someone who he knew could handle herself. For a clone of the former Dark Lord himself, Rena was still a Corellian.

He shook off the thoughts and glanced up towards one of the large display screens, where it revealed the latest in a series of laws that had been passed by the League, followed by an image of the office on 500 Republica Avenue. Beside the Prime Minister herself were two of the most prominent of the Jedi Order: Cyrin Jace and Ash Merrick.

Dante looked carefully at the image and noticed that Cyrin actually seemed to be smiling—a very disturbing notion if the Jedi ever saw one. In truth, the hard-as-nails Master had been one of the most powerful in the Order and one of the most tragedy-stricken next to Jolee Bindo. It surprised Dante that he could even remember the old Master, even if he had barely known him. Frowning, Dante sipped more of his contents, ignoring the burning fizz that ran down his throat. Looking up, he saw Ash's face, which appeared more worn and tired.

He sighed, knowing that the Jedi Master could never quite get over the loss of his son. The truth of Tarn's lineage had surprised even him, and though they had been good friends, Dante found himself no longer feeling sad for anyone nor for any of the losses that had occurred in the past six months. Too much had happened for him to feel anything. The near-destruction of the Order and the Temple had been too great for him and what's more, the concept of the Unifying Force had brought him closer to the Dark Side than he had ever been. From time to time he had even found himself debating the greater evil: choosing between two extremes or justifying casualties for the greater good?

Before he could contemplate the thought further, a small twitch in the Force tipped him off that Atton was returning. The expression he wore on his face differed quite distinctly from the feelings he wore in the Force.

Dante couldn't help but scowl. _I'll have to teach him to hide his emotions better_, he decided.

For someone as skilled as he was, Atton surprisingly became more open to the Force, thereby leaving himself susceptible to any perceptions. The former assassin should have had enough practice to keep his feelings in check, yet something was tipping Dante off that Atton might be doing it unwittingly or simply to test the depth of his perceptions through the Force.

Draining the last of his contents, Dante wiped his face with his worn sleeve, waiting for Atton to give him the news.

Groaning and sitting across from him, Atton picked up his Nar Shaddaa ale, taking a rather generous amount before he rested it back down. Sighing and smacking his lips in relief, he grinned at the brown-skinned man.

"Well?" He asked, after a few moments.

Resting his elbows on the table and leaning in, Atton whispered, "well, I've got good news and bad news."

Dante couldn't help but raise his brow. "What's the bad news?"

Atton pouted and took another swig of his ale, wiping the runoff with his sleeve. "Well, the bad news is that no one knows where a small courier vessel matching our target ran off to."

"And the good news?'

"The bounty's off and someone spotted the Sith shuttle make the jump to lightspeed, though it could be anywhere." He shrugged and downed the last of his contents. "Hence the bad news."

Dante scratched his chin thoughtfully, contemplating what the scoundrel had just said. After another moment, he gazed back at his friend and asked, "so, where are they?"

"The shuttle? I told you, it could be anywhere by now."

Dante shook his head, "that's not what I meant. Where's the person who spotted the shuttle?"

Atton snorted and glanced over to a scantily clad waitress and motioned for two more drinks, followed by a wink.

Dante had to hand it to the rogue: he certainly knew the ropes well in Nar Shaddaa.

"Well, let's put it this way, he's a big, smelly and ugly Trandoshan who just ate up a hundred of our credits for that little tidbit of information."

The Jedi Knight couldn't help but roll his eyes. "So that leaves us with questionable information from a questionable source?"

"You worry too much, Dante," he replied, accepting the beverages from their waitress, who seemed to eye Atton with more interest than was necessary.

She glanced at Dante, and seizing the moment with a casual wave, he said, "that will be all, now leave."

With a glazed look in her eye, she nodded and left to another customer.

Now Atton couldn't help but raise a brow. "What was the point in that?"

Dante took a sip of his ale, ignoring the fresh burning sensation down his gullet. "She seemed to be playing havoc to our conversation before it really gets underway. Now she can leave us in peace until we're ready to leave—and may I remind you, you've got someone waiting for you on the other side of the Galaxy."

"Yeah, thanks for the hot tip," he replied sourly. "So where were we?"

"Can he be trusted?'

"The Trandoshan? Yeah, sure he can. He's a bounty hunter—not a slaver."

Dante chuckled, shaking his head. "Am I to assume that's where you also got your information about the bounty?"

The scoundrel merely winked and swigged his beverage. "Welcome to Nar Shaddaa, the place of many things if you have the right credits."

Burying his face in his hands, Dante muttered, "and the way things are going, we'll be out of credits before we can find a fixed location on those two."

"Hey, relax—you've got Atton Rand on the job, you'll find them in no time."

Draining his mug, Dante couldn't help but mutter, "then we'll either end up in a back alley with knives in our backs or the Sith will have control of Coruscant and the Galaxy."

* * *

He stood out at the ledge of the large structure, ignoring the frigid cold winds that would have frozen an ordinary man. He was not an ordinary man, isolated in his formfitting black armour and environmental suit. With its own personal advancements, it made him look less Mandalorian, though all the more dangerous.

Dorman Rais, however, was no Mandalorian and the only thing he cared about was vengeance. Injured badly from his fight with one Jedi in particular, he sought his death. His mask was essentially mounted to his face, marked similar to the traditional T-shaped visor of Mandalorian shock troops, yet the visor seemed shaped more like large angry ebony eyes before it met and ran down to the chin of the mask.

The suit's distinctiveness made it a one-of-a-kind unit. His new arms, full sized mechanical implants, were attached to the suit as well, which monitored his vitality, among other things. Strapped to his back was a specially designed sword, with the blade made of a cortosis weave, its edges tipped and rigged to emit low energy. For all intents and purposes, it was the modern-day soldier's answer to the much revered lightsaber.

To Dorman, however, the blade was merely a tool that he used to kill his enemies. He had excelled well and surprisingly, he hadn't disappointed his masters. It was the only reason why they had chosen to keep him alive and create the suit for him. His hatred kept him in check, even when his much needed doses began to plague him. The person who had opted to use the suit had been smart enough to apply a special fail-safe device.

Dorman merely sighed, staring out at the dark world of Nar Shaddaa. He knew that Dante would be here on the planet. It had taken him the better part of a month to find out that the Jedi Knight had indeed been on this planet for at least twice as long.

A bright flash of light tipped him off that there was going to be a storm.

"_Looking out at the stars, Rais?_" The Voice asked.

His lip curled. He didn't know who the Voice was, but Dorman was almost positive that he was the figure who had created the suit. "What do you want?'

"_Just to see how my favourite…specimen is doing._"

Whoever the Voice was, the Sith knew he would enjoy taking his life slowly—the suit, though it had saved him, was horrible in its own right. "I'm not a specimen, just a fellow Sith who happened to suffer an accident and become one of your much commonly used freaks."

"_I wouldn't like to think we'd have anything in common—after all, you're just a measly test subject for the greater good of our Empire. I'm impressed that the Masters had thought you were deserving of life, but who am I to question their infinite wisdom?_" The Voice's snobbish tone tipped Dorman off that he was indeed young and naïve. It would have seemed to work in his favour, if it weren't for the fact that the Voice seemed to also display a terrifying brilliance next to the Sith Empire's leader. One thing was for sure: the Voice was no Lord Julius.

Shutting his eyes tightly and ignoring the blast of thunder and lightning, he replied, "seems that the Gods make us all their playthings, including someone with such notable skill like you."

"_Are you still hunting your quarry?_"

Dorman allowed himself a smile. He had won the battle for today. The Voice had changed the subject. _Perhaps he just doesn't like the thought of being cast into the same category with one of his 'experiments.'_ "What's it to you?"

"_Just asking—not to mention monitoring your progress._"

Dorman couldn't help but frown as a quick thought entered his mind. _Though I'd have to admit I wouldn't enjoy the thought of being cast into the same category as this freak._ "My progress is fine—don't you have more important things to do?"

"_Like what, exactly?_"

Dorman grinned. "I almost forgot; you're nothing but a means to an end from dear old Lord Julius. What could you possibly do of importance? Silly me." As quickly as he grinned, he winced, sudden pain shooting through his stomach, almost as if some unseen power were twisting his insides in every possible and impossible shape.

"_Don't toy with me, whelp. I may not be on the High Council, but I still am valuable to the cause. Can you say the same?_"

Gritting his teeth and clenching his mouth shut, he tried to suppress the groan, only to cry out as he lost his footing and fell from his perch.

"_Looks like you're about to have a nasty spill_," the Voice cackled maliciously through their link.

With quick reflexes and mustering whatever strength he could, he pulled his grappling hook from his belt and fired into the building, catching onto something and holding on for dear life as he flew right into the wall, amplifying his pain and causing him to nearly jar loose his grip on the hook. The mechanical whine of his suit and prosthetics reminded Dorman of how far he'd come and how much further he'd have to go. The implants were struggling, but were keeping him alive, if only for more entertainment for the Voice.

"_Ah, you're a spoiled sport_," the Voice said reluctantly. "_Just have your doses, like a good animal and play well._"

As quickly as it came, his pain dissipated, in part due to the injections the suit administered to his body, which filled his bloodstream with a cooling dose of what appeared to be endorphins and other chemicals. Sighing in relief, he hung in midair, breathing in deeply and cursing under his breath. _I will kill you when I find you,_ he swore silently, _you can be sure of that._ He ignored the pattering of rain that landed on his suit, chalking up his slip to a combination of the pain and the rainfall.

Growling, the assassin made his way back up to his perch and called for his swoop bike. He looked up at the night sky, watching the traffic make its way through the rain. The only thought that ran constant in his mind was the debate between who he hated more: Dante or the Voice.

Climbing into his unmarked swoop, he quickly made his way to the Docks, hoping to get on board his personal fighter, the KSE AR-52 Fang. Passing through the busy skylanes, he quickly arrived to the docking bay, leaving the swoop and making his way to the scout ship.

Awkward in its design, the Fang had been created specifically for militia or police-patrolling in certain areas, in order to ensure less criminal activity. The only problem was that it worked too well to the point where even the Exchange employed its use. Just under the cockpit, the vessel carried to sharp mandibles with mounted laser cannons, earning the patrol vessel the name 'Fang.' Behind the cockpit lay the main hold, where the vessel could carry and hold up to four or five passengers. Behind the main hold were its engines, which, were on top of the ground, leaving the vessel to fly vertically when it took off.

Dorman could care less about the space, though the modifications his Masters had opted for it made him appreciate the vessel's lethality all the more. It was the perfect hunter for a Jedi that didn't want to be found by his enemies. Next to the powerful Basilisk wardroid fighters from the old Mandalorian days, he found that he enjoyed the myriad uses the ship seemed to have.

One thing always led to another and Dorman always found that it surprised even him in its tenacity.

It seemed so appropriate that he had named the vessel the _Raven's Bane_. Stepping inside, with activation codes only he knew, the assassin retired for the night, knowing it would only be a matter of time until he found Dante. He stepped towards the cargo hold and opened the door, to be greeted by eight solid and stiff figures. A flash of ruby light made Dorman smile all the more.

He would ensure that Dante would be found.

His resources were endless, as was the depth of his hatred.

**Author's Notes: the Kuat Systems Engineering AR-52 Fang is from my own twisted mind, since I have no clue what vessels would have been commissioned and by whom during KOTOR. The design of the vessel is similar to the _Firespray_ used by the Fetts, however, there are obvious differences that have been described in the chapter above.**


	3. Ravenous Tongue

_Ravenous Tongue _

Deus spent his time meditating, channeling the Force into his body and changing the currents and streams so they would come easier into his being when he needed it the most. For once, in a long time since he'd begun his new training under the watchful guise of the Sith Masters, he felt at peace.

It wasn't in part due to the training, however, as he felt more at peace with himself. Drawing upon his hatred was becoming harder, though he hid it well when he fought in front of his superiors. In truth, he had felt more at peace due to the presence of Rena. Nothing else had completed him in the last four months as much as being in her presence and knowing that he had someone to call his own.

His eyes closed and lost in the currents and stream of the Force, he could feel the unsettling ripples of Rena rise before him, causing him to rise and open his artificial gaze without so much as becoming aware.

"Sleep well?" She asked him, scratching her head before entering the refresher.

"I feel rejuvenated—such is the way of the Force and meditation," he replied, his synthetic voice booming louder than he had expected. Even after years of use, he still couldn't grow used to it. Silently he wished he could hear his voice, but he knew that the technicians that had fitted him told him there would never be a chance for him to see like a normal person or to speak like one. Such was his fate, as a clone—gifted with a strong affinity for the Force and cursed without sight and voice. He looked at her, seeing only a red figure and readings with some clarity of what her face looked like. "You should try it, rather than sleeping."

She shrugged, looking at him and feeling more at ease. "You should try sleeping-it might do you some good if you dream. Might bring you that much closer to humanity," she replied, bringing her forefinger and thumb a hair's breadth towards each other.

He cocked his head, not quite comprehending what she meant.

She sighed and opened a tap, throwing cold water over her face. She knew he was looking at her, and she could feel how far along he had come. His abilities with the Force had become a strong maelstrom, ready to suck in his victim and crush them without remorse. Rena knew, however, that her brother would never surmount to one of the Sith—he had a gentle side that not even their supposed Masters knew existed.

Pressing a finger on a little pad mounted to the wall, the doors hissed closed and she proceeded to remove her sweat-soaked clothes, stepping into the small cubicle that shot down water from a stainless steel spout which quickly spread across her body, damping her golden skin and soothing the bruises she had obtained through the rigorous training. She rubbed her skin gently, leaning on the wall and lost in her thoughts.

She had been dreaming about Dante again and this time, she had faced him on a world of ice and snow, with the biting wind freezing their joints. This time, the Jedi Knight had been without a mask, only a murderous expression that chilled Rena to the bone.

_What does it all mean?_ _Will I have to fight him to the death or will he fall completely?_ The only difference in the dream was that Dante brandished a lightsaber that blazed with a furious sapphire.

_Will I fall to the Dark Side and he will have no choice but to fight against me?_ She sighed, letting the warmth of the water replace the chill that ran up her spine. _I'm a clone of the 'almighty Revan' and yet somehow, I could never win against Dante when I fought him. It just doesn't make sense and now I am stuck with the Sith who want me to become like them and lead a group of blank slate Revans. _

She let the water run down her body for a few more minutes before shutting it off and stepping out of the stall, picking up a towel and running it across her face.

"I heard you last night," Deus said through the door.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied.

"You had a nightmare."

"You don't know what nightmares are, Deus," she reminded him poignantly.

"Regardless, it left you perturbed once again. This is the fifth time in three nights. Should I ask the doctor to prescribe you some medication for your sleeping habits?"

Rena inhaled sharply and wrapped the towel around her body, opening the door and looking Deus square in the eye. "No and _never_ mention anything to the doctor or anyone else, do you understand me?"

He nodded, oddly hurt at her biting reply.

"We can't trust anyone and if the 'good' doctor were to prescribe me something, it would get back to the Sith. In the end, they are questing for perfection, Deus—they'll stop at nothing to remove imperfections. They'll separate us; is that what you want?"

He shook his head.

"Good." She hated hurting him—she could feel a puncture in the surrounding tempest that was the Force signifying his presence. It was a necessity, however, and she knew in time he would learn. Deus was good like that: quick to please and quicker to learn. He could make a dangerous foe and Rena was glad she had him on her side.

Not even the vile assassin Lotus Xa could stand up to him. It still surprised her that Lotus had managed to outmanoeuvre Dante at the last possible moment, though that wasn't to say her Master was not infallible.

Dante was a man of many things, and though he was still younger than most other Jedi who had survived, he was still wise beyond his years—at least according to her perspective.

She shook her head and returned to the refresher, drying off her body and throwing on her clothes. Throughout the moment, she kept her gaze locked on her oceanic blue eyes, loathing her heritage and hating the fact she had become a mere puppet in a game that moved beyond life and death to a Galactic game with higher wages. Even she didn't understand Julius' motives against Revan; however, all that concerned her was reuniting herself with her Master and to be as far from the currents of the universe as possible.

Sighing, she went for her belt and looped it around her body. Once that was finished she instinctively reached for her lightsaber, only to find…nothing.

Her hand dropped and she silently cursed herself for allowing the Sith to take it from her. The only unique trait about her that reminded her that she was more human than what everyone else perceived was now in the hands of the Sith. _No, not quite_, she reminded herself.

Deus had the lightsaber on his belt, hoping to hold it as a keepsake of her.

She knew he'd only relinquish it to her if they were fighting for their lives—normally all of their training scenarios and the occasional Sith who decides to pick a bone with the descendants of the former Dark Lord—leaving her to accept the fact that she'd only get it back on good behaviour. She didn't know exactly what the Sith meant by 'good behaviour' but she knew those were two words that didn't go with being a Sith. Cunning, deceit, murder, cold-blooded; some of those were words that seemed to go well with being a Sith.

Stepping through the door, she held her breath, knowing this day wouldn't be any different from the last few months. The training she had to endure was slowly taking its effect and she knew it would only be a matter of time until she would lose all of her control and finally become a bent and broken servant of the Dark Side. The Corellian in her didn't like the odds that were stacked against her, though it was the only thing holding her together. The years she spent on the planet had certainly been to her favour.

Standing before her, Deus had his arms crossed, clad in the same black trousers, boots, and fibermesh tunic he wore since the first time he had met her. His imposing height and build would have scared anyone else, but Rena knew him very well: Deus was far gentler than anyone could ever comprehend.

Raising an eyebrow she asked, "yes?"

"It's time." Turning around he made towards the door, pausing for a moment and turning back to see Rena standing motionless at the refresher door, her hands crossed over her chest. He knew exactly what she intended and though it pained him to part with it, he unclipped a worn silver hilt, unadorned except for two small symbols and tossed it to her.

Catching it, she eyed the hilt carefully, running her hand over the symbols: Wookiee symbol for honour and a strange looking hawkbat surrounded by an orb. After another moment, she looked at him and allowed herself a smile. "Thanks."

Nodding, he walked through the archway, only to be shortly followed by Rena.

* * *

Julius sat in the large circular room, his eyes focused on the central arena before him and the two other beings in the room. He rubbed his hands, warming them from the unusual cold air that filtered through the room, and he watched with baited breath at the spectacle that would arrive shortly.

Beside him sat his apprentice, Darth Sardonicus and to Julius' left sat Darth Hereticus, who licked her lips in eager anticipation. No one else had bothered to enter the room, leaving the three heavily cloaked and mysterious Sith Masters on their own.

Julius was glad to have had it that way, and he was intent on keeping an eye on how well his new acquisitions would perform. It would only be a few more days before the _Revenant_ arrived at the capital of his hidden Empire.

It would only be a few more weeks before they had everything they needed to launch their final crusade against the Jedi and its precious Galactic League. He hadn't been completely oblivious to the news of the outside universe.

Even with Revan's relentless hit-and-run strikes, the Sith war machine hadn't been stopped. During his reign as one of the Dark Lords—and a promising one at that—Revan had paid a tribute of the ancient technology from the Rakatan people, which bolstered and rearmed the might of the Sith war machine. The space-borne factory known only to the Council as the 'Star Forge' had somehow stopped producing their equipment, and it was only a few months later that they hear the news that Malak had assumed control of Revan's Empire and seized all assets. Shortly after that, Julius received news of the destruction of the Star Forge by the armed forces of the Republic and the Jedi.

By then it was too late, and he had single-handedly reorganized their war machine using the technology they had acquired.

Outer Rim planets under the sway of the _true_ Empire had begun producing battle droids that were capable of storming and eliminating entire cities within days of a concentrated attack. The so called 'Chiss Ascendancy' had been powerless to stop them and were quickly outnumbered and beaten back.

He allowed himself a smile, grinning under the empty black hood, and knowing that in time, things would fall in place for him. If he so much as wished it, his son would join him, but for now, Aiden Carnus would be someone who could prove to destabilize his plans. Julius clasped his hands together, knowing that he was playing a game with his own son and was using the boy's resources against him. If Aiden so much as knew what Julius had planned, there was a possibility the boy might be able to halt his plans just long enough for the Jedi to catch wind and lure the Sith out into a trap.

Julius watched a sensual figure casually stepping into the large, round grate metal arena, clad in her usual skin tight clothing that just begged the question whether or not she would be better wearing nothing at all.

"Masters," she cried out, her voice filled with an eagerness to please, "we've come to the highest tier of training and today we will see how worthy your new acquisitions are." Lotus bowed, revealing her curves, if only for a brief moment. Her hair had been dyed silver, still closely cropped to her chin, split along her right side that left her bangs to cover one side of her mismatched eyes.

Almost on cue, Rena and Deus trudged up to the arena, lightsabers in hand and being escorted by a squad of powerful Sith, ostensibly under Lotus' command. To everyone else who knew better, however, there was only one person that issued commands and that was the Dark Lord Julius.

The Dark Lord couldn't help but frown, looking at the pair of clones and at the squad of Sith. _Is Lotus out of her mind, or is she simply attempting a ploy?_ He glanced at the arena and back at Lotus, who seemed unaware of her Master's reproachful glare. After a few more minutes, he finally sighed and barked, "remove their lightsabers and give them swords."

Quickly following orders, a pair took their lightsabers, though Deus growled through his synthetic mask. Another Sith arrived shortly and handed Deus and Rena a sword each, who quickly tested its balance and were treated none-too-gently as they were guided to one end of the arena.

"Next time ensure they have no arms, Lotus," Julius growled, feeling more liberal with lessons than he was with torture—for the moment.

The assassin paled and bowed, "of course, my Lord, it shall not happen again."

"I know it won't," he replied, "otherwise you'd be out the first airlock, or my apprentice here might find suitable instruments to correct your wrong."

Sardonicus allowed himself a chuckle, while Lotus blanched at the thought. There was a reason why he had been chosen as both an apprentice and Master of the Council by Lord Julius himself.

Rising, Julius spoke up in a clear, booming and palpable voice. "You will continue to fight until you've been worn down, and you will hearken to the tenets put forth by our ancestors. If you fail to listen to the teachings and to give yourself willingly to the power of the Sith, you will find yourselves sorely lacking in death what you would have found in life."

Rena afforded a glance at Julius, who seemed to return the gesture from within his deep hood. She had to fight down the urge to shudder. There was a cold, insidious presence within the Sith Master that made Rena second guess a possible strike at him.

The decision was made before her when a large, transparent dome separated Julius and his entourage from the mayhem that would soon follow.

She narrowed her eyes and glanced over to Deus, who continued to pour forth a cooling, radiant calm that disturbed even the Sith that surrounded them. Even if they were to draw arms against her brother, Rena was willing to bet that Deus would kill them without so much as dropping a bead of sweat.

The metal grates below their feet began to rumble lightly, marking a change in their direction and leaving Rena wondering where the _Revenant_ was actually heading.

Before she could continue pondering the question, however, Lotus and the others quickly displaced, leaving the arena and sealing the door, leaving the pair alone and without their lightsabers.

She swung aimlessly, taking in the balance and quality of the worn looking blade. A look of disgust replaced the vehement expression as the blade came to a stop in midair. "They expect us to fight with these swords?" She asked, glancing at Deus, who seemed not to be affected by the quality of his blade.

"It hardly matters—it will be sufficient enough to pass this exercise," he replied indifferently.

"Says you," Rena snorted, sorely wishing she had retained her lightsaber. She could feel the growing lure of the Dark Side begin to well in her belly, festering almost as if it were a tumour that had begun to spread through her body bit by bit. Rena swallowed hard, trying desperately to ignore its growing presence. She had been fighting it for a month now, recalling on her Jedi training to deter the continued growth of the Dark Side, despite the grim truth: her incomplete training could only do so much to stem the growing tide.

Closing the gap, Deus walked towards his sister with purpose and in one swift move, he snatched her sword, handing her his own. "This will be far better suited for you," he answered, swinging his newly acquired sword with ease.

Staring at her brother in disbelief, Rena quickly composed herself and shrugged it off, muttering, "it won't be my funeral."

For all that could be said of the mysterious Deus, he merely laughed, not quite the cold, grating sound that many of the Sith presumed to be his cackling.

Rena could feel the warmth radiating from him, and strangely enough, she didn't rebuke it. She afforded herself a small smile, knowing it could very well be one of her last genuine smiles.

The rumbling of large doors before her and Deus quickly replaced her smile as a group of twelve heavily modified droids appeared, each wielding swords and carrying the distinct anvil shaped faces of the Czerka HK-50 protocol droids. The only difference from the HK-50 series droids, aside from the fact that these were carrying melee weapons, happened to be the fact that the droids were all copper coloured and wore thick gauntlets on their forearms.

Deus took a step back, bringing his sword to eye level with the blade pointed towards the droids.

Rena followed likewise, only her sword was pointed from her waist up. She could feel her heartbeat beginning to pick up its tempo, as she watched with worried silence between what orders the droids were most likely receiving and what Julius was going to say.

"This is another combat exercise," the man's voice boomed, "but with one exception: the room will be filling up with gas."

"Typical," Rena muttered under her breath, gulping an abundant amount of air down her throat.

Deus, as usual, seemed unaffected, and merely readied himself.

Without so much as an acknowledgment, the droids raced towards them with their blades whirring just fast enough to mirror the sound of a pre-Republic buzz saw. Once more, the oncoming droids reminded Rena of her sorely needed lightsaber.

Taking the assault in stride, Deus charged, meeting the homicidal droids and driving his blade down, slicing one poor HK's head in two. Deus quickly shifted to his right side, ready to meet with his second opponent, leaving Rena stunned.

Quickly composing herself, Rena raced into the fray with a warcry on her lips.

A pair of HK droids moved to intercept her with a surprisingly bloodthirsty gleam in their cold faceless expressions. The first one lunged, whilst the other charged at the young Jedi, hoping to decapitate her.

Rena ducked the wide swing and extended her hand, sending both droids away and affording her the time to control her breathing as a third droid slashed at her chest, nicking her tunic and slicing her skin.

Crying out, Rena thrust her sword, hoping to knock the droid off guard while she fought off both the tiresome effects of the gas and the stinging bite of the cut. Stepping back from the oncoming droid, she felt a growing tug in her lungs and she knew that though the Jedi breathing techniques she had learned was the only thing separating her from a gaseous death and a fighting chance, it could only give her limited time.

Deus, as usual seemed stoic, working his way through his fifth victim and without as much effort as his sister.

_Suck it up,_ she chided, tightening her grip on her sword and glancing at the trio of droids that were now coming back towards her. She had nicked her third opponent across the chest, marking him and she paid special attention to that particular droid. Rena screamed as she made her assault, launching herself into a dazzling array of flurries that assaulted the droid in all possible angles, leaving it compensating for her quicker abilities.

The droid continued to deflect her slashes, searching for a quick opening in her defences, which she presented when her sword clashed against one of the large buzzing gauntlets on the droid's arm.

Rena stifled a groan from the shock that numbed her arm, leaving her defenceless as the sword flew from her hand. With one hand available and the other unable to move, the Jedi moved into a martial arts stance, waiting for the killing blow.

The droid brought its sword up and slashed down, ready to cleave the defenceless Jedi in two, until a large grating sound drowned out Rena's cry.

Deus groaned, removing the imbedded blade in the droid's chest and shoving the metallic corpse away. He afforded his sister a glance and quickly moved into a defensive posture. "Pick up your weapon! Go for their power cores in their chests and avoid their melee shield gauntlets."

Doing as he said, Rena picked up her sword and gently rubbed her arm to regain feeling. "So _that's_ what it was," she mumbled, ducking under a swipe from one of the droids. She angled the blade and drove it up, into the droid's chest and hearing the satisfying sizzle of a wrecked power core. "I just thought my arm gave up fighting," she quipped as another pair moved in.

"The gas," Deus commented, blocking the slash from his current opponent. "It's gone."

Rena parried her first foe's attack before she realized Deus was right: the gas had dissipated and an uncanny wave had begun to fill the air between her and her brother. Before Rena could contemplate what new element had arrived, she found herself rolling away from the cleave the second of her foes had sent her way, and it was only when she noticed a faint flicker from a spark did it occur to her what they now faced. "Down!" She cried, leaping towards Deus and colliding with the heavy fighter, who seemed to collapse as a wave of searing fire washed over where they had stood but a few short moments ago.

"What I wouldn't give for a lightsaber," she coughed. She rested on the ground and looked along the metal grating to see the seared fragments of droids that had been standing just before the strange blaze. "Lousy Sith traps."

"Come," Deus offered his hand, already standing with that strange aura around him that enveloped Rena in what she felt was gratitude. "Be thankful that we're alive—it's not every day that you save my life."

Allowing herself a smile, Rena gladly took his hand and rose, only in time to feel something rip through the powerful warrior.

Once, then twice more scarlet streaks launched into his body, leaving the man to collapse into his sister's arms, unable to groan and cry out.

Rena watched in horror, feeling a burst and pang of pain that touched not only her brother, but somehow it ached in the palm of her hands and in her heart. Her wide, fearful eyes shifted to see one of the droids, blackened from the fire and twitching with electrical sparks holding a blaster a few feet from Deus.

"Query: it would appear that the large meatbag has not died yet. Addendum: that will be dealt with shortly." The droid took a wobbly step forward and took aim with its small holdout blaster.

In a blur, Rena's world went red with blood, pain and insatiable anger as she let her brother's wounded body drop, and with a quick flick of her wrist, she shattered the droid's blaster hand from its chassis.

"Worried statement: it would appear that the female meatbag has damaged my servos and my hand," the droid pondered aloud, taking an involuntary step back.

Gritting her teeth and growling so low and primal that not even the Council members sitting above her bothered to notice, Rena extended her hand once more and felt for the faint life force that the droid thrived on. She could touch the warm, cylindrical vibrations of its power core and without thinking twice; she took hold of it, crushing the canister deep within its chest.

The droid took a step forward, gasped and halted, shortly before it noticed the shattered chest.

She clutched the power core deep within the Force and continued to tighten her grasp until it virtually imploded, causing the droid's chest to explode. Rena still grasped the broken droid, now devoid of an arm and both of its legs, and with a primal scream, she sent the chassis through the glass that protected the leaders from her and Deus.

Along with the broken droid followed the pieces of its companions as it peppered the glass until it shattered under the relentless impact.

"Well, you have to give her some credit," Hereticus applauded. "She finally learned to harness her anger—and all it took was to shoot her brother a few times."

Almost as if to answer her, one of the broken droids' carcasses landed before her, leaving Sardonicus to chuckle.

"Sardonicus," Julius snarled, "attend to her and get the medics. We don't want to lose our most valuable prize before it has run out of its uses."

As the dark cloaked apprentice began to move from his seat, Julius added, "and don't forget to keep her alive. Ensure she doesn't end up damaged goods."

Sardonicus merely grinned. "I can't make any promises, Master."

Julius sighed and with a wave of his bony hand, his dark apprentice jumped deep into the arena. Shortly after the Sith made his arrival present, Julius heard the cries of Rena, followed by an almost continuous glimmer of blue light.

_It might serve as a lesson to her that she will have to be stripped of all things that make her a Jedi in order for her to become a Sith._ Julius rose and left, ignoring the young woman's screams. _Still, greed and eagerness for possession is something that can be used to lure her down to our point of view. It's been done before,_ he mused, clasping both of his hands between his robes. _Greed is a most powerful ally—and her desire to see Deus alive may be the key._ He passed Lotus, who seemed to make her way towards the arena, along with several other heavily armed Sith soldiers, droids and Sith disciples.

_Her desire for vengeance against Lotus may also be a key._

Julius allowed himself a smile and sighed. Already he had found several keys with which to pull Rena to the Sith—it would only take a matter of time, and that already seemed to be on his side as well. With the clones of Revan swearing their allegiance to him and the new weapon he had constructed, it would only be a matter of time before the Sith made their way back into the Galaxy as uncontested Masters.


	4. Unexpected Encounter

_Unexpected Encounter _

He awoke with a gasp, covered in sweat and muttering gibberish. He dropped his head back onto the pillow and wiped the sweat away from his face, calming himself and letting his heartbeat return to its normal beating pace.

"Just another nightmare," he muttered, rolling away from his cot and moving towards the refresher. Dante ignored the fact he wore nothing but his undergarments and made his way into the refresher.

The last he knew, Atton sat in the cockpit, running through the navigational maps and coordinates that had been given to him by the Trandoshan contact.

He threw cool water over his face before he looked into the mirror. He allowed himself a sigh and wiped the excess water from his face, and stared back at the image that pierced his very soul.

"Another nightmare?" Atton asked, surprising Dante, who turned around and gasped.

_Well that was surprising—he could be getting better at hiding himself like he used to._ "Maybe," he scowled, running a hand through his sweat soaked hair. "Why? Does it bother you?"

Atton shrugged, turning around and allowing the Jedi to throw on some clothes. "Maybe—a Jedi that has nightmares like the ones you do must be harbouring some pretty bad demons."

Dante quickly donned his clothes, wrapping his belt around his waist and strapping on his boots before he answered again. "My demons are my own, Rand. I'm surprised you of all people don't understand that."

The scoundrel frowned, "yeah? And what's that supposed to mean?"

Dante ignored the question, seeing it for what it was: a trap. "You need to improve your abilities with the Force—you stand out in the Living Force like a sore thumb. If there were Sith hunting us, it wouldn't be that hard to track us." He strapped on a black glove, flexing his fingers before he added, "just look for the guy who can't control his abilities with the Force."

"Har har," the scoundrel replied. "I didn't ask for Jedi powers, remember that."

"Neither did I," Dante shot back, "but at least I know how to use my skills to get what I want without attracting too much attention."

"And you call having a building blow up when you're looking for its dirty little secrets skill?" Atton scoffed, "thanks, but no thanks, Dante. If that's how the all-powerful Jedi do their detective work, then I am beginning to have second thoughts about this."

"I did say 'too much attention,' Rand."

Atton shrugged, "fine, whatever you say 'oh Wise One.'"

The Jedi Knight strapped on his second glove and added his bracers before he looked back at Atton. "What did you find out on the disk our contact gave us?"

"Not a whole lot, but it's a start."

"I'm listening," Dante said, clipping his lightsaber to his belt and walking out to the main hold of the ship with Atton.

It never ceased to amaze Dante about the level of quality that came to Jedi vessels, equipment and most especially, resources. The lighting in the small hold was bright, leaving not even a shadow on the floor or walls. It seemed as much of a mural about the Jedi ways as it was in the current events of the Galaxy.

There was a much needed light to keep the dark forces at bay, and yet, Dante found that the Jedi, among others, had lost that thought in its all-ensnaring grasp. After fifty years of a Sith war, the Galaxy was yet again on the precipice of darkness.

_Or has if fallen already?_ Dante quickly shook away the thoughts and focused on the large round table in the centre of the hold. His priority was Rena—everything else was secondary as far as he was concerned.

Atton switched on a holographic projection of the Galaxy, and began, "well, from what Torrdo gave me--,"

"His name is _Torrdo_?" Dante asked incredulously.

"Yeah, what's wrong with it?"

"Torrdo the Trandoshan—doesn't that sound a little bit like an alias?"

Atton shrugged, "he's a Trandoshan. They all have weird names."

Dante picked up a ration bar and opened the plastic wrapper before taking a bite. "All right, whatever you say."

"Well, the good news is that we have a general idea as to where they are heading."

Dante's ears perked up and he stopped chewing the ration bar. "That's good news. Where?"

Atton brought his hands up in a peaceful gesture—one that Dante knew meant that there was bad news. "It's roughly around Yavin—the other side of the Galaxy."

"Oh joy," the Jedi muttered. "I'm guessing they went towards Korriban?"

Atton shrugged. "I don't know—the only calculated coordinates puts them closer to Yavin than any other system."

"And that being their heading for about a month now means that they could be anywhere else in the Galaxy." Dante heaved a heavy sigh and brought a hand to his temple. "Just wonderful—anything else there, you might want to tell me?"

"The Galaxy's a big place, Dante," Atton replied. "It is going to be a long shot, but I think we should start making preparations to go to Yavin."

"Fastest route is to go to Alderaan and then take the Hydian Way up," Dante added, running his finger along the holographic projection of the Galaxy.

Atton nodded approvingly. "You're getting better at finding quick routes."

Dante shrugged, "well I have been piloting for almost ten years now." Finishing the last of his ration bar, Dante turned about and began to make his way towards the landing bay. "Right now we're going to have to pick up some supplies and be on our merry little way."

"Aren't you going to shower?" Atton called out.

"No time for that—I'll do it when I get back," Dante quipped as he left the ship.

The scoundrel could only shake his head as he followed his friend out of the ship. "If the Sith are looking for us, they'll probably end up sniffing you out. Look for the smelly Jedi and the wide berth people give him."

* * *

They calmly walked along the plateau, ignorant of the few beggars and heartless mercenaries that eyed them carefully. Both men just tightened their coats around their bodies, hoping to keep in the quickly fading warmth, even with clothes that had their own micro-environments.

"It's just heartless," Atton finally uttered, looking at the few beggars who fought each other for a few measly credits one of the mercenaries threw at them. He watched the mercenaries laugh and take bets at who would win out the day and keep their five credits.

By a stroke of luck, one of the beggars managed to capture the credit coin and run, as his companions beat each other mercilessly.

The man's apparent stroke of luck soon ran short, for one of the mercenaries grumbled something and extended his hand, squeezing away a bolt of energy that slammed into the back of the man's head.

The remaining beggars ignored the blaster bolt that had befallen their friend and raced over to fight over the corpse's clothes and credit coin.

The mercenaries merely laughed.

"They don't concern us," Dante replied stoically, as Atton had begun to move off and face the mercenaries. His hand took Atton by the arm and with a firm grasp; he kept the trained killer by his side. "They're Exchange thugs; if we interfere, it will only make the situation worse. You know this by firsthand experience. They'll fight over the remains until they've killed each other. The mercenaries are cowards, but there is nothing we can do until we're in a better position. The last thing we need to do is renew the Jedi bounty."

The scoundrel scowled and looked away, annoyed by the scolding, and bothered by the fact that he felt helpless to stop the dehumanization the mercenaries played on the bottom feeders of society. "I've been one of them before," he said at last, pulling away from Dante's grasp and continuing their trek towards a supply dealer. "It's no picnic."

"Life in these times never is, my friend."

"Torrdo will be meeting us in the cantina in about half an hour," Atton managed uncomfortably at the ominous tone Dante used. "If you want to get what you need here, you better hurry up."

"Torrdo can wait," Dante replied, and when Atton shot him a dirty look, the Jedi added, "if he's got valuable information, he'll wait for us."

"Whatever," Atton muttered as he walked off. "I'll be at the cantina—meet me when you're good and ready."

The Jedi could only tighten his jaw as his informal Padawan learner walked off. _I knew training him would be challenging—especially with how old he is_, he sighed. Dante took a step towards a railing that somehow seemed more like a catalyst as opposed to a hindrance to someone falling the many hundreds of stories down to the dirty depths of the dark moon. He rested his hands on the metal bar and looked out to see the myriad of lights that—at a glance—turned Nar Shaddaa into a wondrous and perhaps even romantic sight.

Standing on the ferrocrete surface, surrounded by durasteel walls and guns-for-hire often served as a sobering notion that not everything was what it appeared to be. He inhaled the polluted air and ignored the zooms of the thousands of airspeeders and rumbles of freighters coming to the many landing pads that filled the Smuggler's Moon. The only thing that could come to his mind, despite the depressing scenery of refugees and thick-headed mercenaries, was the thought of his young, sweet apprentice.

"Rena," he breathed as he looked up to the few specks of stars that could be found in the city lights, "where are you?"

He continued to look out at the night sky, studying those few specks, waiting desperately for some silent reply—something that told him where she had been taken. For almost a month she could very well have given up hope of rescue and become one of the pawns of the Sith.

If she were to fall, it would be very grave indeed for not only the Jedi, but the Galaxy as a whole, and as Dante continued to ponder the thought, he realized that it wasn't the threat of another Darth Revan that would rise to power, but in fact, it was the thought of losing Rena that made the man feel overcome by this grief. He hung his head in shame, consumed by the thought of his young apprentice losing hope, but he knew that she was strong. Not only was her Corellian heritage a benefit to her stubbornness, Rena's ability to keep up hope even when things seemed utterly hopeless was a testament to her growing skill as a Jedi.

He looked back to the stars and wiped away the slowly forming tears and choking back the lump that had begun to build in his throat. "I'm coming for you," he vowed. "I'm coming for you." Wiping his face, Dante turned and left the scene, eager to join Atton and perhaps have a drink or two. He paused suddenly then, when a slight tremor came to him and the hairs on his neck stood up.

He searched all around him, stretching out into the Force and feeling the slight tremor of several presences that seemed to form a torrent whirling tornado that seemed to blossom all throughout the planet, and as quickly as it came, it was gone.

He glanced over to his left and saw nothing wrong in the night sky.

He glanced back to his right and saw the mercenaries staring back at him, each taking an interest in him and then quickly returned to their game of beggars fighting over a credit coin.

Nothing seemed out of place in the real world, yet something great had blossomed in the Living Force. It appeared almost as if someone had broadcasted their presence to the entire planet—as if they had wanted to be found.

Whoever it was, they were close—and so were the others who had seemed to be caught up in the whirlwind.

Dante took a step and continued on his way, eager to meet with Atton, retrieve more information and leave the dreary moon before things got out of hand. "What in the blazes is going on?"

* * *

Dorman stood outside in the shadows, watching with baited breath as a pair of men walked out of the ship that loomed before him. He had one hand gripping the pommel of his sword just over his shoulder, whilst the other one flexed, waiting for the moment when he could strike and kill the pair.

"I still don't understand why we would be out here, especially at this time of the day" one of the figures grumbled.

"It's simple, really," the other one began, "we're doing this for supplies and to earn credits. In the end, the universe revolves around credits. The more, the merrier. Plus it will help us in the long run."

Dorman narrowed his eyes, waiting for his moment, though he couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. He stretched out with the Force and could feel it bustling around one of the figures, while the Force was minutely present within the other.

_Could it be Dante?_ Dorman probed further, touching the figure ever lightly, and realizing that somehow, the other figure had caught on.

"What's wrong--" the grumbling companion asked before he was cut short with a blue streak.

"What in the blazes?" Cried the second companion—the one Dorman had felt through the Force.

The dark figure appeared out of the shadows with the blue bolt returning to his hand, only to reveal it as some sort of energy sword. "And so we meet once more, Dante Ravenmoon," he bellowed, walking past crates and ignoring the dim light that shrouded his long-awaited prize's face.

"Dante Ravenmoon?"

Dorman shook his head, taking a step closer to him with each and every breath he took. "You won't fool me—I've waited for this moment. It's been so long, but perhaps you'll see me more clearly if I take off the mask."

The man watched in horror as the armoured figure moved closer, removing his ebony helmet and revealing his scarred face and horrid yellow eyes. He still stood on the ramp, calculating his chances of making it back into the ship. His companion was no more—his head missing from his body made sure of that.

"Don't you remember me?" Dorman narrowed his eyes, taking another step towards the faltering figure. "You're strong in the Force—I can feel it. I have longed to face you in combat once more—I've killed many to get where I am now and _nothing_ will stop me!"

The scared man's face was still cloaked in the darkness and it bothered Dorman immensely that Dante didn't have the nerve to step out of the shadows and face his comeuppance.

"What's the matter?" He finally snapped. "Have you lost your nerve, Jedi? I will kill you where you stand and then, as you lay bleeding, I will look into your eyes and see the fear bubble through your icy surface." He took a step on the ramp with the distinct lightsaber thrumming filling the tense silence. His sword's energy crackled with the promise of a renewed feast of bloodshed and Dorman didn't want to disappoint it.

After another moment, Dorman heard the gratifying reluctant sigh from the person and what's more, he could feel the nervous presence in the Force shift to a strong-willed and controlled person. "You've found me out, Dark Jedi," the man spoke, catching Dorman off when he realized the voice was different to the one he had heard before.

It seemed deeper, somehow more confident and _far_ more in control than the Sith had anticipated.

That was just enough to tip him off that something wasn't right; another player was in the game.

Dorman quickly retreated his Force presence into himself, unwittingly coming into contact with the cold tendrils of the second player and—if he felt it right, a third one.

The third one, however, felt distant, almost as if it were a fleeting thought of paranoia.

He would have dismissed the thought instantly if it weren't for a sudden flitter of a spiced aroma mixed with the scent of some sweet fruit, he couldn't quite put a finger on. The scent reminded him of something else—or someone that he had become familiar with.

"Though I too am aware of the name which you called me," the figure replied.

His gaze returned to the Jedi, obviously catching the last part of the statement. "You're not Dante—you're not my target."

The figure took a step into the light to reveal a light skinned man with silver hair, and behind him approached a furry and towering Wookiee. "You're quite right, Dark Jedi." His cold, piercing blue eyes shifted to the energy sword. "I see that you have some things of interest—including the knowledge of this Jedi?"

The assassin narrowed his eyes and threw his helmet on. _I was a fool to let my pride get in the way—I can't allow it to happen again. _There came a voice that was ringing in his helmet, and Dorman knew that the mad scientist had been watching the altercation the whole time.

"_It would appear that you're in for quite a thrashing, my dear friend,_" the Voice cackled.

"Quiet, fool and let me handle this situation myself," Dorman spat.

"Very well," the Jedi bowed, obviously unaware of the invisible party to whom Dorman addressed. "Leave us in peace, and let us not cross paths again. It will be your only warning—the death of my companion is unfortunate, and it decrees that I must seek justice for your misdeeds."

He tensed, feeling the powerful presence of the Wookiee behind him. _So, the walking carpet is Force sensitive too._ Dorman stared at the mysterious Jedi, sizing him up and knowing that despite the man's age, his experience far outweighed the power of the assassin.

The strength and Force-heightened abilities of a Wookiee also added to the equation, though Dorman was loath to admit it. He quickly calculated his chances of survival, and though he was positive that he could defeat a human Jedi Master, the low rumble of the Wookiee Jedi—perhaps a Master itself—convinced Dorman otherwise. After another moment, he switched off his sword's energy source and sheathed it.

"Agreed," he answered. No one saw him remove a trio of ball bearings.

The old man took a step towards the armoured figure and asked, "what business is it that you seek with this Dante Ravenmoon?"

An explosion of smoke sprung both Jedi into action, igniting their golden and green blades and jumping into the smoke, only to see nothing standing before them.

"We have a score to settle," the mystifying voice echoed. "You would be wise to never seek myself or him out—I promise that it will be the last breath you draw."

As the smoke settled and both Jedi stood staring at one another, they holstered their blades, leaving the old man to say, "anymore bright ideas, fur for brains?"

"Quiet, Ash," the Wookiee replied. "I did feel Dante's presence somewhere out here. I suspected the assassin would have known."

Ash couldn't help but raise a brow and move towards the corpse of their pilot. "We just lost our pilot here, Frreral and for what? The aid of an assassin who just vanished out of thin air?"

"Calm yourself, Master Merrick. We're looking for Dante and Atton—I didn't realize how hard it was to find him."

Ash brought the pilot's head to the body and sighed.

"I did feel his presence for a moment, Ash—that's something to be thankful for."

Jedi Master Ash Merrick waved it away as if it were a fleeting thought and added, "and what's to be thankful for when he finds out that Visas is dead?"


	5. Evasion

_Evasion _

Dante had found Atton several moments later, sitting in a booth with two mugs of ale and a lopsided grin that told the Jedi that his companion had indeed found the contact they were looking for.

The Jedi Knight merely took his seat, though not without a scowl. The night was young and already the cantina had been filled, complete with its very own company of vagrants. He quickly took a count of them and spotted a trio of Trandoshans along one wall and a few more dispersed sparsely around the cantina, some casting an unsavoury glance his way.

_Bloody bounty hunters,_ he snarled, lifting his amber beverage and taking a sip.

"What's with the long face?" Atton asked, sitting very casually.

Dante knew better. The scoundrel was more than prepared. Without even sensing his strangely mute presence in the Force, the Jedi could tell that his rogue companion had a hand ready to grasp a lightsaber and another ready to withdraw the blaster that was slung along his thigh. "Can you sense Torrdo? I've spotted a hunting clan of hungry Trandoshans that seem eager to either peel back your flesh or make you their slave." He afforded another glance at the slowly congregating group of Trandoshans and looked back at Atton. "I think they're deciding on the former."

The scoundrel shrugged carelessly and took a sip of his own beverage. "I'm just waiting on my nerf-hide steak, thank you very much."

"You'd eat at this place?"

Atton flashed a smile and replied, "I figure as long as we're in the Jedi Order's good graces, they'd be able to buy us a meal on the house."

Dante finally allowed himself a thin smile, "well, I'm glad at least one of us has found the good out of this situation."

"He'll be here," Atton replied, taking the steaming plate from a scantily-clad waitress who seemed eager to reveal more to the scoundrel as he took the plate.

To Dante's credit, however, he let it slide and managed a polite smile to her before she left.

"You have a way with the ladies, Dante, I'll give you that."

Dante took in the fragrant scent of the steak and ignored the sudden water forming on his tongue. "Given my current track record, I'd prefer to play it safe right now." Stretching out in the Force, he could feel the hostile presences of the slavers and knew the cold-blooded lizards were beginning to take an interest in him and Atton. Quickly touching one of their cold, crude minds for an instant, Dante weaned an image from its mind and retreated back into the present. He leaned closer over the table and asked, "is Torrdo the fellow who wears a Mandalorian chest plate and shoulder guards covered in the blood of his victims?"

Chewing voraciously on his steak, Atton nodded, "yeah, why?"

The Jedi Knight sighed and replied, "I don't think he's coming and that he set us up for a date with his cousins."

"Please tell me you're kidding," Atton groaned.

"I wish I were. Let's get up and go." Rising, Dante paused to add, "quietly, and without the food."

Atton started to protest, until Dante cut him off.

"Actually, I have an idea." He glanced back to the waitress he had seen previously and whistled her over. "Atton, how often do riots in cantinas occur?"

"Quite a number of times here," he answered. He grimaced and asked, "why?"

Dante grinned mischievously and answered, "no reason."

"Are you ready to order?" She asked Dante.

He quickly shook his head and studied her.

The young woman appeared very young and not as attractive as some of the other guests might have held her. Still, she was young, impressionable and—as he hoped—just adored by both the staff and the guests that they'd be heartbroken were something to happen to her.

"No," he began, gently rubbing her mind through the Force, "but it appears that this steak is not thoroughly cooked." He gestured to his friend and with a wink, Dante continued, "my friend here has a weak stomach and ordered this well done. I'm sorry, but could you please take it back. I believe the kitchen entrance is where the Trandoshans are."

She rolled her eyes and picked up the plate, scowling as she went along.

Dante managed a smile. "Thank you very much."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Atton drawled, watching the Jedi Knight's plan. "If anything happens to her, everyone here will be out for blood."

"I know Atton, but it's our chance to find Torrdo and minimize our presence here."

"Wonderful plan—upset a bunch of cold blooded lizards and watch the Exchange thugs take a whack at them. This certainly won't end in loss of life," he replied, dripping with sarcasm.

Dante ignored him and focused on the young woman as she walked past the Trandoshans, gently nudging the closest one to her along his shoulder.

And as she passed the lizard by, she was quickly startled by a snarl and clawed hand that reached for her.

"And let the mayhem begin," Dante replied, gesturing for Atton to pick up his queue.

"What in the blazes are you doing to that waitress?" He yelled, catching the attention of several drunken thugs who quickly watched the Trandoshans begin to circle the waitress.

"Who do they think they are?" One of them cried.

Dante began to stretch into the growing pool of outrage and guide the flow so that it began to reach not only the patrons, but the staff and armed guards that had begun to take notice of the situation with the waitress and Trandoshans.

More and more people began to rise and move towards the Trandoshans, several of them brandishing a few holdout blasters, disruptors and suddenly sharp bottles.

The Trandoshans in turn began to unsheathe their claws and remove their own weapons. Slowly but surely they had begun to realize how badly outnumbered they were.

The whining sound of charged blasters began to fill the air with armoured guards making their way into the scene.

Taking Atton's arm, Dante gestured for the nearest exit and as quickly and silently as they could, the pair made their way out of the cantina, nodding to one of the guards standing outside.

"I think you might have a problem inside," Atton mentioned as they walked past. "An angry mob, several stinking Trandoshans and a young waitress they're trying to beat up."

Without a hesitation, the guard cocked his rifle and made his way inside.

After they rounded a corner and lost themselves within the growing number of people within the streets, the pair stopped near a wall and Atton spoke up.

"Don't you think the more Jedi thing to do was to activate a fire alarm?"

Dante shrugged, "it was the most immediate thought that came to mind that I had acted on. The fire alarm would have taken the Trandoshans outside just as well. They'd probably try to follow us as well."

The scoundrel brought his hands to his hips and gave the Jedi Knight a reproachful look. "But there would be no loss of life. You just gave them an excuse to partake in a blood frenzy."

Now it was Dante's turn to shake his head. "I don't think so. There would have been a loss of life and injury if people began to rush outside of the cantina. We could get lost within the crowd, but we'd have to find a way to slink further out into the streets. Right now, they're still inside, where we have the advantage to find Torrdo and find out why those cold-blooded lizards were gunning for us."

Atton frowned and finally added, "well, I think it was a very un-Jedi like thing to do." He began to walk and Dante quickly followed.

"Well, Atton, sometimes you have to act quickly when it comes to those situations. It could have been different, but in the end, it was a decision to save both of our lives that won out."

Atton grunted and continued walking.

Dante frowned and muttered under his breath, "there is still something here that I can't seem to figure out. There were other presences on this planet that felt us coming." He looked at Atton, who finally returned the gesture and added, "I think there are Sith here on Nar Shaddaa."

Atton sighed and continued to guide Dante through the streets. "Then we're going to have to find Torrdo and hope that the Sith haven't weaned the information of our whereabouts from him."

"Don't worry," Dante said chillingly, "something tells me that we'll get to him before they do." He clenched his fist and caressed the lightsaber hilt that hung on his belt, hidden under his coat.

* * *

They had closed down the cantina for almost an hour, cleaning away the bodies that had fallen in the firefight.

Many guards and thugs had fallen to the hail of blaster fire from the group of Trandoshans, but none of the reptiles survived the encounter.

The weapons of mercenaries and the remaining guards saw to that.

Standing in the middle of the room, Frreral looked to Ash and asked, "do you sense anything?'

The old man shook his head gravely. "No—none of these bodies has the sign of Dante." He looked back to his furry companion and expected the Wookiee to reply.

After another moment, Frreral complied. "I do not sense their deaths, nor do I smell it. I think Dante and his companion left shortly before the brawl occurred." He sniffed again and a disgusted look appeared on his face.

Ash narrowed his eyes and asked, "what is it?"

"It does smell of something dark and twisted that occurred here. It seems almost as if there was someone else here."

"Our Dark Jedi companion?" The Jedi Master asked.

Frreral shook his head. "I can't be certain, but I know one thing: whatever it was, it left its trail in the same wake as Dante. Someone's hunting them."

Ash tightened his jaw before he spoke a moment later. "We should find him quickly then—this trek of his is consuming a lot of time, especially for two Masters to be on a mission such as this."

Frreral merely dipped his head and added, "I remember when you were unwavering in the mission."

Ash turned and tread past the exit, replying, "I remember when you were still young and taking lessons from myself and several other Masters, Frreral."

"I also remember when you had less wrinkles," the Wookiee growled underneath his breath, following the Jedi Master as if he were subservient.

"I heard that," was all the reply the Wookiee needed.

* * *

Dorman trailed them, watching silently and observing the movements both Jedi were making as they walked through the bloody scene. He looked intently at the old man, knowing that if he were to make his move, the old man would have to be first, then the Wookiee.

The old man still had fight in him, where the Wookiee was nothing but the fight.

Dorman didn't move, however, letting his hand stay where it lay: next to a communications link. He needed support in this, if only to deter the pair of Jedi when he used them to find Dante.

Dante was his key goal—the one Jedi who forced him to detract from perfection as the future blade master of the Sith. It hardly mattered, there was power to be found in the ways of the Sith and Dorman would make sure he used that power and anything else that gave him an advantage over his enemies. It was the will that only the strong survive, and many had forgotten that rule.

Dorman Rais was not one to bow to the will of anyone, especially the crazed doctor who monitored his movements with an efficiency that was worthy of a Sith or someone following up on his experiments.

He stealthily stalked the pair as they left the scene, intent on listening to their conversation. It seemed almost as if the older man were using the Wookiee as a hound, letting him sniff out Dante's scent.

_Ingenious_, Dorman mused, though, as far as he could recall, he had never heard anything about the Wookiees having a strong sense of smell. _They are furry primates of some sort_, he continued to ponder. He traced their position to a bridge on the corner of the refugee sector.

Both Jedi had stopped right there and were merely chatting.

He clenched his fist and bit his lip, trying desperately not to scream in frustration. He'd been tailing Dante for some time and he hadn't been able to find the Jedi, no matter where he went, knowing the only time he had found the trail was when Dante had merely left the place.

Dorman sighed, knowing that he still had a few more tricks up his sleeve. He merely waited for a call from his…client. Dorman smiled beneath his grim exterior. There was hope for him yet and it lay in a call that was successfully orchestrated.

Torrdo couldn't say no to Dorman and now that he had the Trandoshan in his pockets, it would mean that he'd gain the upper hand with Dante and then remove not only his Trandoshan leech, but the Jedi that had cost him much. There were a great many things that had been left to complete and he'd ensure that such work would be taken care of.

He watched the pair of Jedi watch the night sky and the traffic that constantly filled the moon. Nar Shaddaa was certainly a planet that didn't lose a night's sleep.

The pair stood holding a metal banister that ran along the perimeter, so as to prevent anyone from falling over the ledge. It wasn't entirely fool-proof, as there were other arrangements that ensured someone did fall over, but at the same time, it also kept in check that people with the right mindset had something to hold on to.

The wind, even as high as they were, barely had an effect on the pair, if only to ruffle their hair.

"We need to find Dante quickly," Ash muttered.

"And where do you think is the best place for that?"

Ash shrugged. "I'm not even sure if Dante is here any longer."

"We have the tracer for the ship," Frreral replied, producing a small circular disc from his utility belt. "If it is here, then it stands to reason that perhaps Dante and Atton are here as well."

"They might have sold it just to avoid anyone searching for their ship," Ash pointed out.

"It's still our best bet," the Wookiee reasoned. "We haven't gone there yet; perhaps they might be there right now."

Ash furrowed his brow and shook his head, "I don't believe so."

Frreral remained quiet, allowing Ash to brood.

Since the death of Tarn, Ash had changed significantly. The Jedi Master had become more exhausted and the others had discussed the possibility of forcing his duties to attend to something else, though Frreral and Jolee had ruled that possibility out when they mentioned that it would take time for the Master to heal. The last few months had been hardest on everyone, especially those who had lost a great deal.

With the Republic dead and the League of Systems still on its first wobbly steps towards something greater, it required the constant vigilance of the Jedi, now more than ever. Over the last while since the reformation, several Jedi had reemerged from hiding, joining the ranks of the Jedi and attempting to rebuild everything that was once thought lost.

Frreral remained silent, leaving the locater active so he saw the position of the ship. "It's not too far away from here," he said to Ash.

Ash nodded, ready to reply but quickly closed his mouth. Narrowing his eyes, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "Someone's here," he whispered.

Almost as if on cue, Frreral nodded and continued, "if we're lucky perhaps we'll find him. It doesn't matter what you think—we have a duty to perform."

Ash hoped that whoever was watching didn't understand Shyriiwook and left it up to chance as he probed through the Force to find how many presences surrounded them.

"Whether or not you like it, we will continue until we find him," Frreral continued to bark, hoping it was buying them time.

"You're right," Ash sighed, staring intently at Frreral and searching through the Force, desperate to search for the figure. "We need to come up with a plan." He continued to probe through the area, finding a trio further along the dais and two more figures in an alley several feet from their position. Ash continued until he overshot a small void and returned to sense it.

Someone was remaining still and trying desperately not to be found.

Ash had an idea who it might be.

Frreral wrapped an arm around Ash and continued his diatribe, "then what do you say? What should be our first step in our plan?"

"I think it's the Dark Jedi," Ash whispered, then quickly adding loudly, "I feel our first step has failed."

"Failed?" Frreral narrowed his eyes, and casually brought his lightsaber arm up.

"Far corner, to your left." Ash nodded, doing likewise. "Yes, it has failed because our friend has forgotten to reveal himself." Ash hoped desperately he hadn't left a flash imprint of his self when he probed out, knowing it was likely that if the Dark Jedi hadn't sensed his probe, then he stood a chance of flushing out whoever it was.

"Friend? You mean Dante?" Frreral asked.

Almost on cue, the pair leapt over to the far corner, lightsabers blazing to life and they came up to find nothing save a corner that had long been emptied, save for a small cube that was flashing.

"He found us," Ash replied. He cursed his failure at the probe.

"Indeed," Frreral agreed, as an explosion rocked the building they were next to and sent chunks of ferrocrete and durasteel flying over the rails and into people on levels far lower to the ground.

* * *

Dorman had barely any time to figure out that the Jedi had spotted him, but their delay was long enough for him to plant an explosive and take the frequency from the locater. With it, he'd be able to find Dante and be rid of the Jedi once and for all.

It upset him to find that the pair of Jedi almost found him out.

He knew he couldn't handle the both of them if they had caught him out, but he had surprises.

He needed numbers right now and he needed the right assistance. As much as he loathed it, Dorman knew that the only person who could send him almost instantaneous reinforcements was none other than the Voice.

Dorman retreated into an empty warehouse, breaking the lock with his blast sword. Entering the room, he sealed the door and ensured no one was inside the room. Once he was satisfied, he quickly opened his communications channel and spoke into it. "Where are you, you meddlesome man?"

There was no reply.

"Doctor, where are you?"

Once again, there was no reply.

Dorman looked around, growing impatient and knowing that his opportunity would be coming to an end unless the Jedi had miraculously died in the bomb blast. "Doctor, where the blazes are you? I'm still on Nar Shaddaa and I'm sending you my coordinates." He tapped a button on his gauntlet and continued to speak into the comlink. "I require additional reinforcements—just know that I need them as swiftly as possible."

Before he could continue any further, however, Dorman heard a grating beeping sound within his suit. There was another call coming through.

He closed the channel and switched over to another.

"Go ahead," he answered quietly. He still didn't trust an empty space, even when he saw one.

"_It's Torrdo,_" came a vicious, slithering voice. "_They're here._"

**Author's Notes: I'd like to take this time and thank those of you who reviewed thus far. Your input and comments in general are really helpful. As you're no doubt aware, Dante's questionable actions are a culmination of everything that has and will happen to him. I will shed more light on this as the story progresses, but one thing I would like to say is that, "yes, the Exile and Revan have a far larger role in this story and they will become mainstream in the story." This is building up to everything that has and will occur over the next few chapters and eventually we'll see where Rena and Deus' relationship takes them. For now, let's enjoy the pace and I look forward to reading what you all have to say, so please don't be shy and review!**


	6. The Hunt

_The Hunt _

Atton made sure he was first to enter—it was the only thing that saved their supposed contact from having a lightsaber run through his open maw. Of course, that didn't stop the fact that an audible _snap-hiss_ filled the sound of the room, which was quickly replaced by a monotonous hum and eerie green light that directed its way to the green scaled, cold blooded reptilian.

"You," Dante spat, blocked only by Atton's lean figure.

The sheer outrage he had felt towards the larger humanoid had magnified when Torrdo appeared unconcerned.

Dante had to hand it to the reptile; he appeared undaunted with the threat of a blade of pure energy thrumming for his cold blood.

"Yes?" Torrdo asked with an inhuman snarl. "Is there something you'd like?"

"What happened?" Atton asked evenly. His arm still stretched before Dante's chest, leaving the Jedi Knight to glare viciously at their 'contact.' "Why didn't you meet us at the rendezvous?"

Torrdo turned around and walked across the floor, his arms still crossed and casually tapping his claws along his forearm. "Things had changed," he replied simply. His gait, almost stiff while dragging one leg, caught Dante's eye, though he couldn't pin what it could have been.

It was then that the pair really took in the room. All around them lay elaborate trophies, ranging from weapons to heads to bones and a myriad other things that even Atton couldn't identify. The room was clustered and filled with strange items, and then it began to dawn on Dante that their contact was more than what met the eye.

The Jedi Knight quickly holstered his lightsaber and tensed his body. "You never really had the information we were looking for, am I right?" He took a few steps past Atton once he gently moved the scoundrel's arm out of the way.

Grasping how far the situation had been removed from their grasp, Atton found his hand inching towards the holstered blaster dangling on his hip.

"Am I right?" Dante reiterated, this time fiercely.

The Trandoshan attempted what would be considered a shrug, had Dante not notice the way in which Torrdo's head shift from the large claw mounted on his shoulder guard. In fact, it occurred to the Jedi that he had erred when he holstered his lightsaber. Torrdo wore heavy armour befitting the much hated Trandoshan slavers and few bounty hunters.

"It doesn't matter what I say or suggest at this point, but for your…_benefit_ or shall I say, peace of mind, then what I told you was the right information. It was just a matter of time and order in which I presented it." His claw absentmindedly twitched, reminding Dante that despite the odds against Torrdo, the Trandoshan was not to be taken lightly. Torrdo moved towards a desk, cluttered with stacks of flimsiplast and a fair share of datapads. Along the wall behind the desk were large rifles, mostly exotic, but dangerous and potent nonetheless.

Dante made out several of which were high energy projectiles—rippers, disruptors and other weapons that even a lightsaber couldn't defend against.

Torrdo stopped at the desk's corner and lifted up a large glass bottle, intricately designed and carrying a rich amber substance. Beside it's former berth lay several tumblers, one of which he picked up and poured the beverage, shortly before sniffing and taking a swig of the brandy. "I'd offer the both of you something to drink, but you know how it is."

"To be honest, I've never seen a Trandoshan drink," Atton said, inching forward towards Dante. "Well, for that matter, I've never seen one attempt to have refined tastes or skills."

Dante could hear Atton inching up—his presence merely bathed towards defence, despite the fact that Dante could feel his companion's yearning desire to crush the traitor's maw in. He watched with baited breath, knowing Torrdo was merely biding time until his allies—or employer—showed up to take the Jedi in. There was no bounty on Jedi—not anymore since the quiet disappearance of Goto and his precious Exchange—but consequently, there was no more Jedi. A pair of Jedi would be valuable to someone who took an interest in their dealings, most notably, a Sith or two.

He narrowed his eyes and kept his hands to his side, summoning the strength within him for when he knew he'd be ready. Lotus or her lackeys were here and that meant he had to be prepared to stop them by any means necessary. Incapacitating one would be all he needed—he'd had other methods of gathering his information.

_No_, a part of him mustered. _There are other _humane_ ways of gathering information. There is no point in causing more pain and suffering to satisfy your bloodlust and your need for immediate information—have faith and things will come together._ Dante clenched his jaw and stifled the thought. There was no time for a moral debate—internal or external. Before another part of him could protest further, Dante blurted, "who employed you? Who baited us along? I can't fancy hearing a Trandoshan blather on over something menial. I knew many who didn't enjoy making small talk, so let's get straight to the point."

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Atton replied sourly. His eyes combed through for anything they could use, until he felt a strong presence wind over him, giving him a few moments to realize it was Dante. At first, it seemed distant, almost as if Dante were in some other room, until there was a brief spike, followed by a wave of dark radiance that almost overwhelmed him. He glanced at Dante and saw the Jedi visibly seethe for a moment, before he quelled the burst of outright anger and bloodlust within him.

_That's impossible_, he thought, quickly dismissing it. _No, it's not—I once was like that. But how can that be? He's a Jedi, he shouldn't feel this way._ His hand shifted away from the blaster and he crossed his arms, gently brushing the sides of his coat apart ever so slightly with his fingers. _Even _I_ should remember that sometimes even those with the best intentions can be turned to do evil things. _He clenched his jaw and eyed Dante carefully before shifting his attention to Torrdo. Atton had far more important things to attend to than reminding himself of past evils and what they can do to others if they weren't careful. Theresa had given him his fair share of lessons—it was a very small price to pay for his absolution.

Torrdo attempted a toothy grin, which appeared to be nothing more than a predator preparing to feast on its struggling prey. "You're right, Jedi—many Trandoshans prefer to get straight to the point, and I am sure you do too. I'll be blunt: my services were acquired through my employer—a mutual acquaintance of ours, I'd say—and it's too late to do anything about it. They will arrive here any moment. The information I gave you was what you wanted all along—I didn't lie." He took another swig and attempted another fastidious shrug. "Well, not much," he added.

"Just perfect," the scoundrel spat. "You get paid by both us and the Sith and you deliver us to them. Services rendered on both sides and I'm sure you get a nifty little bonus on the side too, right?"

_So, he caught on_, the Jedi Knight mused. He had underestimated Atton's ability to deduce what little information was given to them, though as it stood, their present plight wasn't too hard to figure out who had employed the little reptile.

"What can I say? I have more talent in my claw than many of my brood have in their…carcasses."

Dante narrowed his eyes and fought down the urge to unleash his growing tempest of rage. He knew the Trandoshan wouldn't walk out of here alive—even _he_ wouldn't be that arrogant to assume otherwise. "You know," he breathed, "they _will_ kill you."

Torrdo poured himself another glass, almost wincing when he shifted his weight ever so slightly. "Somehow, I doubt that. I'm more valuable to them alive than dead." He seemed to relax visibly when he finished pouring his brandy into his tumbler and took another sip. "After all, I _did_ bring the both of you, didn't I?"

This time, Dante allowed himself a smile—a cold, cruel smile that pointed out the Trandoshan's flaw. "That you did, Torrdo, however you forget one important trait about the Sith: they betray all who fulfill their uses. What use do you have after you've delivered the two Jedi to them? They won't repay their gratitude with credits." He shook his head and took a step forward. "They'll compensate you with your death and the burning of your not-so humble abode. In the end, the one thing you can count on with the Sith is that they thrive on betrayal."

Torrdo paused for a moment and allowed a small growl to form in his throat.

Both of the Jedi caught it and knew that they had the Trandoshan cornered.

"Besides," Atton interjected, "we're two Jedi—we can handle a group of Sith. What hope is there for a limping Trandoshan with a faulty prosthesis?"

Now Torrdo began to curl his thin lip, with a feral snarl falling into place.

"Don't get me wrong, Torrdo; you lying and manipulating us into believing you were a reliable source for information was brilliant. The little band of the now Hutt delicacies you call your kinsman that you sent to fetch us was an added touch. Surely they must have known they were going to their deaths, but the fact that you—a limping nobody who is nothing more than a sycophant for the highest bidder—_must_ have some kind of plan to evade the torture and ultimately gruesome death that awaits you."

There was no reply forthcoming and Atton was left to shrug.

"Well, I guess that answers that. Quite the hole you're digging for yourself, aren't you? And to die by the hands of some nobody over a pair of Jedi worth ten times more than your little life, surely the Gods must have some irony over your imminent death." Before the scoundrel was allowed to finish, however, the Trandoshan lurched forward with his claws ready to tear into the Jedi's flesh.

Throwing caution to the wind, Dante tackled the reptile, who returned the gesture with a powerful knee to the Jedi's stomach and thrusting his claws deep into Dante's sides.

The Jedi Knight screamed as he was thrown across the table behind Torrdo, scattering objects all over the place and crashing into a wall.

Atton fared far better, extending his hand to Force-shove Torrdo into his trophy mountings, garnering a powerful grunt from the reptile.

Torrdo was a powerful warrior, despite his shortcomings, and his racial physique matched the ferocity in which he rushed at Atton again, slashing with his bloodied claws.

Dante groaned and rose, ignoring the sharp bursts of pain that came from his ribcage. A warm, yet quickly cooling liquid ran down his shirt and he knew he'd sustained a deep cut. He brought his gloved hands to touch his ribs and he willed his cuts to seal. His eyes roamed back to the fight, to see Atton cleverly dodge Torrdo's deadly blows.

The scoundrel ducked a sluggish swipe and strafed to his left, dodging a downward swipe from the angry Trandoshan. He knew he didn't have the strength to fight Torrdo hand to hand, but he did have agility and that was what counted for the moment.

Atton launched his knee into Torrdo's stomach, barely phasing the reptile and was rewarding with a burst of pain that swam in his field of vision for a few moments before he realized a bookshelf cushioned his fall.

Torrdo grinned and spat, "so, even the mighty Jedi can fall to the hands of a wounded hunter." Before he could move towards Atton, however, a burst of blue energy crashed into him, electrical tendrils following in its wake.

"No one is fallen yet," Dante cried, clutching one hand against his ribs and the other pointing towards his foe. Insignificant wisps of smoke left the black glove and he moved past the desk, watching as the Trandoshan twitched for a moment across the other side of the room. A cool burst washed over his body and he felt an odd touch of familiarity as his body warmed to it. He removed his hand and removed his lightsaber, which flared angrily to life.

Atton rose, wincing for a moment and glanced at Dante, before he looked back at Torrdo. "Thanks," he mustered, "I had that all under control."

He allowed himself a smile and replied, "but of course you did, Atton."

Before Atton could reply, an almost overwhelming and intoxicating wave washed over him. It seemed cold to the touch, though inviting with a hint of lustrous desires.

The only true way to describe it was to be knee-deep in credits, washed in membrosia with countless twi'lek slave girls ready to do his bidding and eager to please. Somehow, it seemed darker, almost as if those twi'lek girls were all smiles, ready to please and yet holding a dagger behind their backs. Somehow, Atton found it suddenly cold and uninviting and quickly receded back to where he was, in a cluttered home, with stacks of flimsiplast and datapads strewn all over the room, along with other things.

The stacks of bookshelves that had fallen where the Trandoshan lay also served to remind him that they were going to run into unwanted guests soon enough.

"I felt it too," Dante growled. "They're coming. Go—get to the ship, I'll deal with Torrdo."

Atton shook his head, almost lost in the reverie of that first fleeting thought before it occurred to him what Dante had said.

"Atton," he barked again, this time catching the scoundrel's attention, "get out of here. Get to the ship!"

"What about you? What are you going to do?"

"I'll get whatever information we need from Torrdo and then I'll be on my way, now _go_!" He turned to face the broken shelves that he used to incapacitate the Trandoshan, until he saw a large space where there was no humanoid figure. "Sithspit," he managed, before a loud growl shook him out of his sudden annoyance.

The mechanical whine of a high powered rifle sent the Jedi diving between the few remaining shelves.

He had been suddenly thankful he ignored the instinct to stand his ground and deflect the blaster bolts when he noticed sharp streaks of silver whoosh across from him.

Torrdo picked up one of his displayed rifles—the energy propelled projectile one.

Dante stifled a groan and rose, deactivating his lightsaber once again. "This is getting tiresome," he growled, jumping towards another shelf that soon became riddled with Torrdo's incessant fire.

Torrdo screamed in glee as his claw continued to hold down the trigger, pouring ounce after ounce of projectiles into the surrounding barriers that stood between he and his prey. He continued squeezing and taking joy into the rattling bursts until a melodic clinging began to spew forth trails of smoke from the end of the rather large rifle's barrel.

Seizing the moment, Dante spun and clenched his fist, grabbing Torrdo with the Force and swinging him from wall to wall until the Trandoshan's grasp of the heavy rifle lessened and ultimately clattered somewhere on the floor. "Down boy," he breathed, sending the immobilized information-monger through a tube of viscous fluid—another trophy.

The slime had washed over Torrdo, most of it finding itself in the pit of his stomach, causing the reptile to gag horribly and knock away the strange organic trophy that now lay sprawled on his chest. Before he could rise, however, Torrdo found the shadow of a very angry Jedi loom before him.

"Now we have time for one more chat before I leave." Dante activated his lightsaber and with a single rotation, the blade receded back into its berth and the hilt found its place on his hip.

Torrdo's hands found themselves lying adjacent to his slime soaked body. It took him a moment to register the searing pain and the fact he was missing two of his appendages.

Dante knelt down so as to stare his foe in the eyes and Torrdo watched with complete horror as a very cold anger settled within the Jedi's eyes. Those cold flames promised Torrdo a life of complete pain as long as the Jedi deemed fit, and for once, the information broker found that not all Jedi were the sympathetic and compassionate weaklings as many of his ilk thought they were.

"Wait," Torrdo squealed in short breaths. "Wait! You're a Jedi! You spare your enemy, not kill them!"

His gloved hand hovered over Torrdo's head and Dante paused for a moment. "You're right," he answered after a long silence. "Jedi do spare their enemy." He narrowed his eyes and leaned in ever closer to the wounded Trandoshan so that his voice was a thin whisper. "This Jedi doesn't."

Before Torrdo could protest, Dante's hand landed on the Trandoshan's head, and Dante began to pry deep through Torrdo's mind, reaching past that racial barrier of primal hunger, sifting through the instinctual desire to hunt and rend flesh from limbs.

His face was stoic as he searched deep within his foe's mind, completely oblivious to the wails of agony that seemed to echo from Torrdo's maw. Dante continued, knowing he'd come too far to be duped into one of Lotus' games. His hatred at the mere thought of the assassin grew and he intensified his search deep within his prey's mind, sifting through ancient fights, prospective mates and other meaningless drivel.

_Almost there,_ he pushed on, continuing to drive deeper until he found himself in the very core of the Trandoshan, learning names and the lives of those he took for a mere percentage, running through the motions until he found what he was looking for.

_Sith._

His upper lip curled and an involuntary snarl rumbled from his throat.

_Who's the Sith that set us up? Where is my Apprentice? _

He continued to search, unaware of his grip increasing its pressure along Torrdo's now blood smeared forehead.

The Trandoshan seemed to be bleeding out of every orifice, a viscous liquid seemed to dribble down his eyes, snout and suddenly there seemed to be a low wail.

_Where _is she?!

"Answer me!" He screamed, unaware of the spittle that flew from his snarling visage.

Torrdo merely continued to wail until he gasped, lost in a world oblivious to reality.

It was then that Dante found what he was looking for—a name, so simple at first, and yet it meant so much more. The name was a simple key to finding Rena and ultimately, the rest of the Sith. It was a name he'd encountered before and one that he was sure he ended as quickly as it was introduced.

_Dorman._

The same Sith he fought when Rena had been abducted.

Oblivious to his own musings, Dante missed the blazing scarlet light that removed the vegetating Torrdo's brain, barely missing the Jedi Knight's hand.

He stepped back and activated his lightsaber, taking up a defensive posture and cursing himself silently for taking too long.

Somewhere, deep within him, a voice screamed at the atrocity he had committed but a few short moments ago.

He buried it deeper, leaving more time for himself to defend against the armoured figure that launched itself against him.

Dante ducked and blocked two swipes to his arms, pirouetting and landing a kick against the figure's stomach.

The figure let out a grunt and absorbed the blow, returning with a roundhouse kick to Dante, who barely avoided it, in time to find Torrdo's desk flying at him.

Diving away, he dodged the crashing desk and sprang to his feet, only to be greeted by the lightsaber again, though this time it came from above.

_Blast!_ Dante strafed and countered the blow with a Force-wave that sent his assailant back. He quickly took measure of his odds and before he could even develop a plan, he found himself assaulted by yet another blade, quickly followed by another.

Deftly blocking the one that would have impaled him, Dante ducked and swiped his first foe's legs from under him and quickly parried the second swipe that would have decapitated him. He rolled to his side and rose once more, quickly taking stock as he saw five armoured figures appear before him, each handling their own scarlet blade of death, led by the one in the middle, who wielded a strange energy powered sword.

"So, we meet again," a sultry and smooth voice greeted.

Dante narrowed his eyes and felt the currents of the Force wash through him. The leader's aura somehow seemed familiar and it clued in to him who it was, with a simple name.

"Dorman."

"Surprised?" The Sith asked, taking a step forward.

The others panned away from the pair and slowly moved to circle the Jedi.

He knew he couldn't let it happen, and he responded by taking another step back, angling his blade in front of him and quickly commanding a small round object to his hand. "Not particularly," Dante replied. "The last time I had seen you, we both did some…damage to one another." He nodded to the oncoming Sith. "More so you than myself."

Dorman growled and continued to stride forward. "I will rectify that mistake, Ravenmoon, be sure of it."

The Sith had been a thorn in the Jedi's side, preventing his chance at stopping Lotus and reaching Rena before it was too late. Now it seemed that the Force had conspired to bring the pair together again, and for some strange reason that Dante couldn't begin to fathom, Dorman seemed bent on ending the duel that had started quite some time ago.

It was something that Dante couldn't allow—he could ill afford anymore delays. He thought of stopping the other Sith and maiming Dorman, but somewhere deep within him recoiled at the thought of having to touch minds with the man in order to get the information he needed. He dismissed the notion and stared intently at the cold black visor that covered Dorman's face.

Dante allowed himself a smirk, thumbing the little button mounted on the sphere. "I'm sure you will."

Dorman snarled and lunged, finding himself stopped by an invisible fist that punched all the air from his lungs.

His companions had felt likewise and were sent sprawling back.

Only one of them was stubborn enough to break through the wave that sent his companions back and quickly launched himself at Dante, bringing his lightsaber over his head to cleave the Jedi in two.

Dante quickly stepped back and blocked the cleave with one hand, kneeing his opponent in the stomach and lobbing the grenade towards Dorman's sprawled body.

The Sith was quick, however, and quickly recovered from Dante's blow, pirouetting and gathering enough momentum to slice the Jedi in half.

Dante was quick to respond, blocking side to side and pushing back at the his foe, causing the assassin to stumble over a piece of debris and allowing Dante to seize the opportunity to run his lightsaber through his enemy's chest. The sizzling of armour and flesh that quickly filled his senses reminded Dante of the touch of death he could bestow to anyone he felt necessary.

The instant death of his opponent reminded him just how sweet it was to have the power to give life or death to anyone in his path.

The man's death in the Force seemed somehow sweeter when Dante touched with the currents of the Force.

_The power_…

He paused momentarily, hearing that distinct whisper. It wasn't his, nor was it anyone else in the room.

The faint whisper had the hint of promise, whether it was pleasure or pain, Dante didn't know. It was familiar and he knew that he had only a few seconds to flee before the grenade detonated.

Seizing the moment and casting the thought aside—along with the many more that flooded his already perturbed mind, Dante leapt through one of the windows lightsaber first, shattering it into tiny shards of crystal.

Dante's dive through the window barely saved him, as the grenade exploded with a loud boom that shattered the other windows. Unfortunately for him, Dante had dived into a skylane, leaving him to fall countless hundreds of feet to his death.

He deactivated his lightsaber and removed a small grapple hook from his utility belt and looked out before him, hoping to catch one of the many fast-moving airspeeders that filled the night sky. The air whooshed all around him, increasing his already fast heartbeat and increasing that instinctual sense of panic that required his feet to touch the comfort of hard ground.

That would soon happen unless he found some means of staying airborne. Swinging with all of his might, Dante threw the grapple hook into the passing airspeeders, hoping it would catch and hold him for a moment.

A large cargo speeder zoomed past him and suddenly Dante found himself lurched into its direction. The sudden redirection of the rush of air that assailed him gave him some hope that he wouldn't die yet. Mustering his strength, Dante pulled himself to the cargo speeder's rear, and he fount footing on a large bumper that doubled as a step for the large cargo door that served as a wall for him.

From the corner of his eye and from the darkening tinge of the Force, Dante could tell that the four survivors had followed him onto the skylane.

He glanced up to see streaks of scarlet lights hopping across different airspeeders and knew that it would only be a matter of time until they reached him.

Taking the chance, Dante dove further into the skylane and closer to the ground, quickly landing on top of a speeder whose driver began to mutter curses at him. The Jedi paid the driver no mind and quickly turned around to face the direction of the traffic and leapt off the speeder to another one right beside it.

Dorman and his followers continued and they jumped from speeder to speeder, following Dante. He had to hand it to the Jedi: Dante certainly knew how to tip the scales, even when he was outnumbered. Dorman made sure to learn that technique after he killed Dante.

Dante leapt towards another speeder and turned around to see how far his opponents were.

He paused and stared long and hard at Dorman. He knew the fighter wouldn't stop—he was relentless. The fact he had been maimed and still sought Dante was a testament to Dorman's singular wit.

The air gave him a sudden punch and Dante found his feet lose their balance and he fell, quickly diving towards another speeder—another cargo speeder. He landed on his knees and hands and cursed his luck, despite the fact he was still alive. Mustering the strength to stand, Dante found himself with another visitor: one of the Sith.

_Blast!_ He activated his blade, which barely saved him from the decapitation that the Sith had intended for him. Dante retaliated with several strikes of his own, swinging overhead and engaging in a series of deadly flurries that the Sith expertly blocked.

The Sith quickly dodged the lunge and pirouetted to knock Dante back on his heels, and charged in for the kill.

Dante jumped and flipped over the Sith, twisting his body and angling the blade so he could decapitate his enemy.

A headless corpse slumped away from the cargo speeder and down into the depths of Nar Shaddaa.

_Two down, three to go_, he mused. Suddenly the other was upon him and Dante knew that time was leaning in their favour.

Before the Sith could land safely, Dante pivoted on his hips and cast a kick that caught the Sith at the base of his skull and crashing face first into the wall of a building, which sparked until a loud and satisfying crack echoed for an instant.

Dante leapt again once more, hopping from airspeeder to airspeeder.

Dorman and his companion were following and keeping up the pace. It would only be a matter of time until the Sith had his hands on Dante and finished this meddlesome chase.

Decided for a change of tactics, Dante leapt onto a rather long and obvious limousine speeder, balancing himself and looking at his enemies' approach.

Dorman was close, Dante could sense it, let alone see it from the blazing blue energy from his sword.

Dante's own lightsaber was a beacon for which they relied on. It would be no different if he had deactivated the lightsaber though, for he knew they were expertly tracking him through the Force. He couldn't will himself to close on the Force right now—not when he was stuck in the same hazard filled situation.

He turned and dove for another vehicle, catching his grip along its side and losing it at the same time, plummeting. He cried out and quickly shut his mouth, angling his body to land himself onto a flatbed speeder, carrying a chained luxury speeder. He thanked the Force for towing speeders and used his lightsaber to cut the chains from the speeder. He looked back to see Dorman's companion gaining speed on him.

He looked back at the speeder and without casting a second thought, threw it in the Sith's direction, who narrowly dodged it.

"Blast!"

The Sith had found his mark and leapt towards Dante, knowing that soon he'd have the Jedi.

Dante held no such desire to face the Sith and stared at the barriers between him and his oncoming assailant. He saw a pair of speeders matching each other pace for pace and he knew what he had to do. He found himself paused in a moral dilemma for a moment, pondering whether the Jedi in him should sacrifice the lives of those meager innocents for his own or if he should in fact greet the Sith blade for blade on the flatbed.

Either way, something was going to happen, especially when it involved the flatbed's speed decreasing.

_No time for a moral debate_, he decided. _I owe nothing to these people and in turn, I am but a meal ticket for them._ _The choice has been made._ He quickly holstered his blade and with an open gesture from his palms, Dante caught a firm grasp of both speeders and clapped his hands together, crushing the speeders in two with the Sith caught in between.

He let go of the Force grasp and he stifled the guilt that had begun to build up inside of him. He gripped several more speeders and began to hurl them at Dorman, who continued his relentless pace of hopping from speeder to speeder.

Dante had begun to find himself frustrated and knew it would only be a moment before the planetary authorities began to arrive.

Dorman landed on a speeder before Dante and stared at him intently.

It was too late and Dante knew it—the siren wails from across the skylane suggested that the local authorities were on to the case.

"Most impressive, Dante," Dorman yelled through the rush of air. "It's a shame you had to waste all those lives, what with your Jedi oath on the line."

Dante shook his head. "That oath has been rescinded and those lives mean nothing to me."

_Now there's something new_, the Sith mused. "I guess a lot has happened in the short time we've come to know each other."

Dante nodded, "more than you know."

Dorman angled his sword and stated flatly, "you know you can't win. Give up—the authorities are coming and you will be dead before then."

The Jedi shook his head. "I don't plan on staying that long anyway, Dorman. Go back to the Sith—tell them I'm coming for them. Tell Lotus that she has very little time left to live."

"I won't back down to the likes of you!" Dorman screamed and leapt.

A loud high pitched whining covered whatever else the Sith screamed and Dante dove from his perch.

Appearing as if it had capsized, a Jedi courier vessel's hatch opened and Dante was sucked right in, shortly before a loud sonic boom echoed and sent Dorman's airspeeder tumbling away, along with himself.

The courier vessel was gone—of that there was no doubt.

The little light that heralded its departure rapidly dissipated.

He managed to find his grip and fell from his previous perch and onto another speeder, to which the driver and his female companion began to mutter curses. He quickly lifted the driver's companion with his mechanical hand and sent her plummeting down and the driver with her shortly thereafter. He then took the speeder and bolted away, lost in thought.

Dante had been right in his very grasp and by some twist of fate, the Jedi escaped.

What also startled him was that Dante was willing to sacrifice innocents to escape, which meant either the Jedi was desperate or he had indeed rescinded his status as Jedi.

Regardless of that, Dorman thought that there was indeed the possibility that the Jedi were as much after him as he was. It also meant that Dante would be far more dangerous as a rogue than fighting as a Jedi.

"How they make a desperate man out of you, Ravenmoon," he muttered while the speeder raced through the night sky of Nar Shaddaa.

It would make an interesting report to the Voice, who Dorman knew had observed every detail of what had just transpired. Whoever the Voice worked for, one thing was certain: his masters would be privileged to know that the Order was still falling apart despite its attempts to rebuild. It would only be a matter of time before the Galaxy returned the Jedi to its archaic roots and their legacy ended in the books of history.


	7. Her Last Breath

**Author's Notes: Well no doubt that this has been a long time since I've updated. Right now school is out, so I will have more time to do some writing and posting. What's more, I now have my internet connection back, which means more time roaming on ff-net. This chapter is a doozy, so hopefully it doesn't bore you folks out there. Decided to do some elaboration in this chapter: rest assured, many more chapters will soon be on their way with lots of action and plot twists. Enjoy.**

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_Her Last Breath _

**2 Weeks Ago**

Cyrin Jace had entered the Chancellor's office once more for yet another meeting. It had been the fourth time in the first two days of the week. He knew what was to be discussed and though it hardly bothered the hard-as-nails Master, Cyrin could tell that it was a topic that would be discussed over and over again.

For the last few weeks since the dissolution of the Sith and reformation of the Republic, many politicians—the Senate, in fact—had decried the use of funding for the Jedi Order to relocate its members and rejoin the Galaxy. It seemed that while the Order was short of personnel and had saved the Republic time and again, it had become apparent that many things hadn't changed. There was indeed corruption within the Senate, and consequently, the Order's list of enemies grew longer as opposed to shorter.

The bald, dark skinned Master shrugged it off; aware that the Jedi Order's precarious relationship with the League of Systems was far different to what it once was under the Republic. Somehow, he could tell the Order's position was the least of what was to be discussed in this meeting.

The room was filled with the drab burgundy and brown hues of the Republic—now adapted to the League of Systems. Sitting at her desk was once more the newly re-elected Chancellor of the League of Systems, Forn Dodonna. It seemed that the Sith crisis on Coruscant had in fact been a benefit to her political career, despite the outcry of her pro-Jedi views.

_There were some things that just couldn't change, no matter how much one tried_, Cyrin couldn't help but muse. He stood tall and proud in his chestnut brown robes and cloak, and he bowed, "greetings Chancellor."

Forn rose and greeted the Jedi Master and gestured towards an empty seat. "Please, Master Jace, take a seat. We have much to discuss."

"It would appear as much," he replied, taking a seat between a trio of high profile figures.

Another one stood beside the Chancellor's desk and this was a figure, clad in the same burgundy-orange uniform of the Republic, that Cyrin recognized as an ally. "Greetings, Admiral Onasi. It's been a long time."

"Indeed it has, Master Jedi." The Admiral, a charismatic man in his mid-forties with graying hair, had a presence that commanded authority and still maintained a youthful expression. At one point, serving in the Mandalorian Wars under the banner of Revan and Malak and eventually fighting in the Jedi Civil War against Darth Revan and Darth Malak, Carth Onasi was considered a Republic Hero, but now had been elevated beyond that stature. Somehow, he had become just as much of an iconic figure as the reborn and redeemed Revan. He had supported the Jedi Order's rebuilding and the military, under his command, backed Forn Dodonna's promotion to becoming the Chancellor of the Republic and eventually, the League of Systems.

Cyrin knew well that this was a man who would be an unwavering ally. The Admiral had proven as much in the last twenty years of his life within the Republic Navy.

Forn took her seat and nodded to either side of the Jedi Master. "This is our…_new_ Director of Intelligence, Alin Veed, and to your right is our Finance Minister, Tal Driffin."

Cyrin quickly took stock of the figures beside him and determined just as quickly that he liked neither of them.

Alin Veed appeared to be a human male in his thirties, thin, gaunt and with a presence that demanded authority. This was coupled with his face—and personality—that suggested he knew all of one's dark secrets, including those that seemed like simple nothings. His short hair and shark-like features didn't help his appearance all the more.

The Director simply nodded to Cyrin and cleared his throat.

To the Jedi Master's right sat the complete opposite to Director Veed. Tal Driffin, a rotund and jolly Caridan, wearing simple, yet elegant robes that denoted his position. He turned and nodded in the Jedi Master's direction, and Cyrin couldn't help but bite down the disgusted expression on his face as the Finance Minister's jowls shook.

Once the introductions were out of the way, Forn cleared her throat and gestured to Tal, who in turn began to speak.

"Ah, Master Cyrin, I know that you—well, I mean the Jedi Order—have been allies with the Republic—and hopefully, the uh, League of Systems—for quite some time."

Cyrin raised a brow and spoke in his calm, yet still daunting voice. "You would be right, Minister Driffin, and you may refer to me as Master _Jace_."

The Caridan nodded and once again, Cyrin had to stomach the urge to gag at the sight of his jowls. "You're quite right, sorry, Master Cy—I mean, Master Jace."

Cyrin couldn't help but notice the amused and stifled chuckle from Admiral Onasi and gave the Republic Icon a cursory glance before Director Veed intervened.

"What the Finance Minister is trying to say is that he hopes that we'll be allies for many more ages to come."

The thin, palpable voice grated on the Master's nerves and Cyrin couldn't help but ponder as to whether or not Forn had planned this meeting out as some sort of cruel joke.

"Yes, that's exactly what I meant! Thank you, Director." The Minister seemed to fiddle with his thin, bony fingers before he continued, smacking his long lips. "Well, the Senate has asked me to determine the fiscal balance for this year's budget and quite simply put…they have seemed that the Order is spending quite a bit of our valuable resources. What with the war and all," he managed as if it were an afterthought, now rubbing his hands anxiously.

Cyrin leaned forward, towards Forn, and asked, "are you saying that the Senate has decided to cut the Jedi Order's budget?"

Forn allowed herself a small sigh and spoke in her crisp, clear and regal voice. "The Senate has decided to cut the Jedi Order _from_ the budget."

"Chancellor—and Minister, are you not aware of the assistance the Jedi Order has granted the Republic since its inception?"

Forn nodded and Veed chimed in.

"Since the Republic's inception, Master Jace; not the League's. There is also the fact that within the last century alone, the Republic has been on the brink of collapse due to the wars between the Jedi and your dark offshoots, the Sith. The Republic collapsed and we've begun a reformation into the League and quite simply put, the Galaxy just can't take in another Jedi Civil War." Alin Veed took a sip of water from a glass sitting on a table between him and the Jedi Master. "We have too few resources, most of which come from destroyed planets and shipyards. The several systems that provide major support for the League now might face the possibility of collapse within the year if things aren't done to prevent economic collapse."

Cyrin glanced over at Forn, hoping to garner support until it began to dawn on him that all of this had been decided long before the Jedi had any say. He was there to receive the results of their actions, not to consult.

The League had taken their first step without the Jedi Order's assistance. It was a likely possibility that the Order was on its own.

Cyrin attempted to probe how far the damage had been done and asked, "the Senate realizes that the Jedi Order is still trying to rebuild itself in the wake of the Sith threat, do they not?"

"And the Jedi consumption of our resources are too great. It's a drain that the Senate—unanimously—voted against keeping. We need the resources," Veed answered coolly.

"I'm sorry, Master Jace," Tal spoke up, "but the Senate decided all of this. To maintain the Order we will need to divert almost a quarter of a billion credits a year. That's funding which we could use for the Navy, research and perhaps use it for the Planetary Rehabilitation projects."

_Not to mention those corrupt officials that take up expensive business vacations._ He almost slumped in defeat, until Carth had stepped in, but the Jedi Master had a suspicion that it would be as fruitless as any argument that could come to mind.

"I may not speak for the Senate, Minister, but I do speak for the Navy. Why not include the Jedi Order under the League's military budget? It is quite a large sum of money that goes to rebuilding and supporting the fleet. The Jedi _have_ supported us in the wars at each and every time. They served alongside us during the Mandalorian Wars."

Veed interjected, "and what about the fact that Republic forces were led by Revan and Malak—_rogue_ Jedi and that the Masters didn't choose to assist the Republic while worlds burned?"

Carth stiffened for a moment and mustered a weak reply. "The Jedi Order _did_ assist in the end, did they not? They have as much a right to live as we do."

"They only assisted us to clean up their mistake when Revan and Malak proclaimed themselves Sith Lords," the Director replied.

Cyrin caught the quick glance from Carth.

The Admiral didn't like the Director of Intelligence one bit, either.

It seemed that even during peace time there were still private wars going about.

"A number of our own people went rogue too, if you do recall, Director Veed."

The man almost bristled, and Cyrin caught a flash of something in the Director's emotion. It seemed almost as if something were caught in the undertow of his surface emotions.

There was something far deeper that Veed carried and Cyrin began to probe, subtle at first, attempting to pry it loose without the Director's notice.

Unfortunately he didn't succeed, but caught something else.

"Is there something you wanted to say, Master Jace?" Veed appeared curious in his expression, and then shrugged it off once the Jedi Master shook his head.

_What are you hiding?_ Cyrin nodded towards the Admiral and said, "I agree with the Admiral. There were casualties on both sides—many from the Republic Navy joined Revan and Malak just as there were Jedi who joined them. I fail to see the point you are trying to make."

The Director picked up his glass and took several gulps before he spoke again, taking sure to clear his throat. "Well, Master Jedi, I will be blunt: the Jedi Order has numerous enemies—those who could very well present a security threat to the safety of the people and the planets in the League. In our interests, it seems the Jedi Order is an encumbrance that we cannot afford to keep—too many wars, too many breaches. Carrying this weight on the Republic's shoulders was what led to its collapse. The League will not make the same mistake."

The foundations of what the Master had once believed came tumbling down.

Carth appeared taken back by the Director's words and struggled to find some reply to his remarks.

After another weighty and lengthy silence, the Admiral spoke up. "I propose that the Order be inducted into the League's military. They would prove a valuable asset—or even in the Galactic League's judiciary system. They are renowned for their mediation skills and bringing solidarity to several shaky alliances."

Forn tilted her head, considering it for a moment, but the Finance Minister shook his head and intervened. "I may not speak for the Senate, but having the Jedi within the system—albeit a worthy position—will merely cause dissension amongst the ranks. The Senate has spoken and regardless of what you plan to do with your military funding, Admiral, the answer remains the same. The Jedi will not, in any way, be a part of the League of Systems."

Veed nodded and voiced his approval and before long, Carth found himself fighting a one-sided argument.

Cyrin knew what the outcome was and knew that the Order would not have lost much in terms of funding, but what the Minister and Director—as well as the Senate—proposed was that the Jedi Order would have no part in the League of Systems' future plans. Essentially, the Jedi Order was a little Empire into itself.

The funding would come from those outside sources that were keen to have the Jedi provide peace and justice throughout the Galaxy, and yet the Master knew that somehow those values seemed very hollow. He pondered the thought for quite some time until he was returned to reality when Forn, with her very worried expression, cut in.

"Master Jace? Master?"

Cyrin looked up and appeared his usual imperceptible self and rose, straightening his dark brown tunic. "Yes, Chancellor?"

"Is there anything else you'd like to say?"

He shook his head. "Whatever else I would deem to say would be fruitless. The Jedi Order has stood for thousands of generations protecting those who are innocent and looking out for the best interests of the Republic. It would appear that the Galactic League of Systems knows that it intends to no longer continue a further relationship with the Order and that we are our own entity. Whatever business you have now no longer involves my presence. Thank you, and good day."

Carth moved to stop Cyrin, but the steely gaze in the Master's eyes stopped the Admiral from making a possibly fatal manoeuvre.

"Admiral," Cyrin managed tightlipped before he turned and left. "May the Force be with you." As he left the doors, the Jedi Master muttered, "you may very well need it."

He passed through the silent hallway towards the turbolift, pondering the same thought that had crossed his mind. _There were some things that just can't be changed,_ he mused, and the turbolift doors closed behind him.

* * *

Jedi Master Jolee Bindo walked through the hallways of the hospital that had been occupied with those who had been injured from the Sith attack on Coruscant so many weeks ago. His mind reeled with what Ash had relayed to him several hours prior to and he continued to tread thoughtfully through the intensive care unit.

This had been the second time within the week had visited the hospital—all of which were under private and official business. He hadn't taken it upon himself to leave the Order yet and he knew that many more Jedi were slowly returning during the rebuilding. He couldn't seem to understand why the Jedi would continue to rebuild, even after a war that nearly devastated them completely, but the old man was wise enough to know that not many things change, even after thousands of generations of rebuilding.

He knew it would only be a matter of time before the Order went back to its mindless and narrow dogma, forsaking all possibilities of opening up to a wide view of the Force that embraced all aspects. It was always a matter of time—similar to how the Jedi forsook all key knowledge to preventing another war that would be triggered after Exar Kun's Sith war and eventually, forsaking all responsibilities for the disasters that led to Revan and Malak's ultimate fall to the Dark Side.

It was the same as when the Order had failed him.

Even if he were determined to fix things, Jolee knew it would only be temporary, just as his position as Jedi Master on the Council was temporary. As old as he were, the man couldn't help but rummage through thoughts about his younger days and eventually his home back on Kashyyyk.

As it were, Jolee spent his time in the hospital to see how well he could help further one person's road to recovery.

It was a long lengthy process, but he hoped that he could break through that impenetrable and almost vegetative state Visas was immersed in. The Force seemed to create a wall around her and despite her body's almost full recovery, her mind was lost somewhere within the vast waves of the Force.

He stood amongst the tanks of kolto where only the terribly injured were kept and he looked at the one in front of him.

Floating within the life saving fluids was a near naked female hooked to a mask that covered her entire head. The oxygen within the mask sustained her body, while a blindfold was casually placed over her empty eye sockets. She would appear human if it weren't for those empty eyes, but Jolee knew that the Miraluka had a better perception without the use of eyes.

For some strange reason that even _he_ couldn't fathom, Jolee had tried to stay by her side and help her. It was the least he could do, especially for someone who was teetering on the extremities of the Force and could be lost if anything had happened to her. Jolee couldn't be sure why he felt he owed it to Dante to keep an eye on Visas, but the old man knew that whatever happened would definitely include Visas as a catalyst for either Dante's redemption or descent.

Much like Revan and the events that shaped his life from the Mandalorian Wars to the Battle of the Star Forge, it was the little things that mattered. It was what inevitably saved Revan from making the same mistakes. It was also what saved Juhani and helped the Cathar complete her destiny and ensuring that Revan stayed on the side of Light.

_Light, Dark, what do I know? I'm just an old man and I'm tired of dealing with extremes. Lousy Sith and Jedi—they have to make things so complicated for an old man like me._ He scratched his bearded chin thoughtfully before shaking his head. _Why am I even thinking like this? There's no one here to listen to me babble on about old aches. Bah, some things just don't change._

He looked at Visas' lifeless form and could feel a spark of her life essence still keeping her body alive. "Find yourself, Visas, it's the only thing any of us could hope for. A speedy recovery would be nice too—I don't fancy having to walk all the way here from the Jedi Temple. I'm an old man, you know; soon I'll need a cane." He chuckled half-heartedly and turned to leave.

What bothered him immensely was the fact that they couldn't move her body to the Jedi Temple. With the rebuilding that was coming along after the destruction, the healer's chambers would take months to rebuild. What's more, if Visas' body was removed from the tank, it was very likely she'd die.

It didn't help that there were still enemies of the Jedi to contend with, even if it included the much maligned Sith that Revan was off somewhere in the Galaxy fighting. The Galaxy was a large place, even if thousands upon thousands of planets were part of some local community, ala the Republic. If someone wanted to fight a hidden war, there were many places one could go to. Much of the sectors had been unexplored and that left Jolee wondering whether or not it was a smart idea to leave much of the League's Outer Rim constituents unprotected.

All it took were a few bloodthirsty predators like the newly organized Mandalorian Clans to invade and it would be the wars all over again.

He shook his head and shrugged off the thought. As bloodthirsty as Canderous Ordo was, the Mandalorians wouldn't assault the reformed Republic, regardless of its name. They had many enemies and glorious battles to satiate their battle lust, especially if they were assisting Revan's interesting war effort.

He started pondering other things as he walked through the hissing doors and paused momentarily as a brief spark—almost as if it were a howling wind—snapped in the back of his mind.

_Visas!_

He spun around and suddenly found himself flying through the exit and further down the wing. A wave of heat washed over him and the next thing the Jedi Master could hear was screaming and a deafening ringing in his ears.

He rose, albeit sluggishly and found himself nauseated by mere movement. He shook his head and quelled the rebellious outcry from his stomach. _Get yourself together, old man! You're a Jedi and right now duty calls._ He reached for his lightsaber and with one fluid motion, his emerald blade sprang forth and he raced into the ICU ward, to be greeted by a figure clad in black and paying strange attention to the comatose Miraluka.

Behind him, people were yelling and screaming, and after a few more moments, the fire suppression units began to activate, wiping away the fire that had spread over the hallways. Jolee reached towards the entrance, eyeing the rogue figure cautiously, and before he knew it, the doors had closed, leaving the Jedi standing there dumbfounded.

* * *

Cyrin chose to walk his way towards the hospital where he was to find Jedi Master Bindo, who was most likely attempting another healing trance with comatose Visas Marr. Cyrin ignored the gust of wind that caused his cloak to flap wildly around him, chalking up the whims of nature to be nothing more than another inconvenience that added to his wearisome day.

Night was fast approaching and he ignored the screeches of speeders and incoming freighters high above him as he continued his trek. The daylight had begun to wane and the night lights of Coruscant had begun to take over, symbolizing a true planet whose populace never truly slept. Cyrin contemplated the paradigm of planetary restlessness that seemed to mirror his own feelings as of late and he simply cast it aside. The daily tirades of Coruscant were inconsequential next to the whims of the Force, and it appeared—as always—that the Force was conspiring against the Jedi Order.

He had spent hours, let alone days conferring with the Senate dignitaries and other League officials in the role the Jedi Order would play and as a result, he finds out that the Jedi Order had its position annexed in favour of preventing the reprisal of another Sith War.

His demeanour hardly changed, though he fumed internally.

The Jedi Order was left to its own devices and ultimately sat in virtual purgatory, awaiting some grand twist of fate that would bring their legendary abilities back to use. Obviously the Force worked in mysterious ways, and Cyrin tried desperately to believe that the Force had willed the Order's compulsory abdication for some greater purpose.

The only issue was that even the renowned Master didn't know what the Force had in store for the Order. He had informed Master Vandar shortly after his departure from Chancellor Dodonna's office and the diminutive green Master had voiced his concern after receiving the disturbing news.

He continued walking past couples and groups from a myriad of different cultures that leered and jested in his direction. His icy demeanour prevented even the bravest ones to confront him.

The news had reached the citizens of the League shortly after he had received it.

Ironically, in a Galaxy as large as it was, word did seem to travel fast.

He snorted and continued towards the large hospital that had barely come into view.

The cold air and the breeze was what he needed to calm his frayed nerves and the bald Jedi Master couldn't help but ponder that very thought.

_Anger? Anger leads to the Dark Side._

_I'm furious, but is my anger really directed at the logical and plausible conclusion that the Senate drew?_

He shook his head and remembered Forn's impotent position on the topic. She merely sat there, a personified figurehead of the very ideals that the League seemed to hold dear and yet she did absolutely nothing.

_No,_ he decided, _I'm not angry. Anger is merely a doorway to falling to the Dark Side and using it to force power in my hand. Power was never my goal, nor was maintaining a stance that carried great weight. What the League of Systems chooses as their fate will ultimately be decided by no one else other than themselves. Let it be so for as long as the Force wills it._

He took another stride and continued, somehow partly relieved to have a burden lift his shoulder and contemplate the possibility that the Jedi would now have more time and consequently more resources to track down the Jedi that had disappeared.

Even now several Knights and their apprentices had forged on ahead.

Ash and Frreral were currently Masters without apprentices, however Cyrin felt the Council would determine who would be appropriate choices for the pair. Ash would need more time, especially considering the fact that he had watched his son fall to the lightsaber of a corrupt aberration of Revan.

Cyrin would be more than willing to grant his old friend all the time he needed, though Ash certainly knew of the Order's need to train more Jedi as time grew on. Even several of Revan's returned Jedi had opted to stay with the Order and train Padawans and take on apprentices.

He sighed and before he could contemplate further, a voice called out to him.

It was Forn.

The Chancellor was out in the evening, running towards him, unaccompanied and possibly under the scope of a sniper's rifle.

He tried not to tense visibly, but failed when she arrived with her shoulders heaving and her breath faint on her chest.

"You walk very fast," she huffed, pausing for a moment and attempting to regain some of her once regal posture. She failed miserably when she wiped a strand of loose hair from her vision.

Cyrin nodded and offered a weak smile. "I hardly noticed, Chancellor."

She nodded, adding, "well, for what it's worth, I should get back to basics. I'm out of shape—sitting in a chair all day and listening to bureaucrats will do that to you."

"Well, if you will excuse me, I will be on my way." Cyrin turned and continued his fast pace, attempting to keep his distance, until she kept his pace. "Is there something else you require, Chancellor? I am rather busy at the moment; however I can call your office and arrange an escort back to your quarters."

"Giving me the cold shoulder?"

It was a statement and not a question—of that, Cyrin was sure. He knew he had every right to be upset and it pained him greatly that some part of him just wanted to hold her dearly and walk with her at leisure. _You're a Jedi Master first—everything else is secondary_

He glanced at her and slowed his pace so that she didn't struggle to keep up. Her clothes didn't allow her the flexibility Jedi robes offered him.

"Perhaps," he mustered, continuing his journey to the hospital. He reached out in the Force for a moment to touch the old Master's presence, and felt a hazy focus, almost as if it was distant, and yet it seemed to acknowledge Cyrin's touch.

Forn was a presence that seemed to distract him, especially since he lost the Force touch to signify his imminent arrival.

"I just want to apologize, Cyrin—I never meant for any of that to happen. You have to believe me."

He glanced at her, keeping his posture straight and folding his hands within his robes. "I have to believe you? The last I recall, you do not possess any abilities with the Force. I can believe whatever I choose to, Chancellor Dodonna, and I have made my choice. You may refer to me as Master Jace, as well—our relationship is strictly professional."

She jumped in front of him, forcing Cyrin to stop momentarily. "That seems remarkably shortsighted for a Jedi Master. And since when was our relationship strictly professional? You confessed your feelings for me a short while ago and so did I. From what I gather, Cyrin, we've moved beyond the realm of a professional relationship, so why don't you come crawling out of that Jedi façade you're using as an excuse to hide in?"

He took a step towards her, staring intently in her eyes. He knew she was right about several things and he knew she had been telling the truth. He would have sensed the deception before he entered the very office that held that meeting. "I believe I made a mistake, which seems to be a common Jedi trait as well. Perhaps it was best if I hadn't said anything at all, Forn. You sat there and watched the Order's entire efforts die in vain. Everything we did—we _worked_ for died in that instant when the Caridan delegate and Director Veed stepped in. Why did the Senate decide to remove the Jedi Order from any decision making process?"

Forn shrugged and returned the gaze. "I am not sure as to why the Senate decided the Order needed to be removed, but you heard it from Minister Driffin and Director Veed themselves. The Jedi Order is a complete waste of resources right now that the League cannot keep. The Order has done well on its own before—history has shown that. Why should this be any different?"

He leaned in and fought the urge to kiss her. There was more at stake than just his personal relationship. "I don't believe that for a second and I know Veed is hiding more secrets. Who promoted Veed to his position and how great is his influence to determine the Jedi Order's a threat to the security of the League of Systems?"

Forn inhaled sharply and raised a brow. "Director Veed was promoted after the former Director's death—at the hands of one of your own, may I remind you."

Cyrin scoffed. "Master Ravenmoon didn't kill Director Tamar Gran'gerst; it was the pair of clones that your corrupt Intelligence Director endorsed."

She waved her hand casually. "Regardless, Veed was promoted by a council—including myself and Admiral Onasi."

The Jedi Master now knew that Forn was lying. Admiral Onasi didn't have the authoritative weight that Forn carried in order to determine the next Intelligence Director's assignment. He didn't say anything for a few moments and mentioned, "the good Admiral and myself don't trust Veed. You're lying—you should know I would have picked up on that." He turned to leave, until Forn pulled at his arm.

"You are using this as an excuse to shield yourself from the real issue."

He didn't tug back, but merely paused. "And that is?"

"Us."

He turned around and tried not to snort. "Us?"

"You felt like I had betrayed you, Cyrin and for that I am sorry." She sighed and slumped her shoulders. "You have to understand—the Senate has been putting pressure on my government to remove the funding of the Restoration project. There were too many variables and a panel had ordered Minster Driffin to create a new budget for the year—one in which we could remove those that were the most draining and possibly threatening to the government's stability."

"And the Jedi was one of them?"

She nodded. "I know I should have told you earlier, but you have to understand that it was out of my hand by that time."

"Surely the Senate must realize that we hardly pose a threat at this time."

"At this time," she reiterated. "Director Veed and several other rogue elements in the League feel that the Jedi Order shouldn't take part in the deliberations of this new organization and as a result, they needed to find a reason to cull the Order."

Cyrin considered this for a moment before he gently, but firmly removed her hand from his arm. "Thank you for the knowledge and I accept your apology, Forn. Get back to your office; that is where you will be needed most. Do not worry about the Jedi Order, we can fend for ourselves." His features softened for a moment, reminding Forn of so long ago—shortly before Exar Kun and his raging war against the Republic and Jedi. "A relationship is supposed to boast support and trust. How can we have both values are lopsided?"

She lost sight of the youth in his dark eyes and found herself returning the gaze of his hardened visage. It was a moment of weakness that she wouldn't soon forget—and one she would regret for a long time, unless she did something.

He turned and continued his journey to the hospital. "Go home, Forn. I have matters to attend to. It would appear you do too, especially if your Senate is seeking to usurp your position."

Forn watched him walk towards those large, bright doors of the round, hulking hospital and she called out to him. "Cyrin! I love you!"

Cyrin paused for a moment, and slowly—and deliberately—turned to face her. The words were on his mouth and he parted his lips, hesitating for a moment before he opted to nod. He thrust his head down and felt an icy chill run down his back.

He narrowed his eyes at first and then turned around, sensing despair and something else—something elusive and vaguely familiar.

Forn thought he simply ignored her and she bravely fought the urge to gag on the bile that seemed to rise to her throat when she had finished uttering her declaration. For her stature, Forn bit her lower lips and wiped away the forming tears at the corner of her eyes. There would be no crying, she determined. He walked his own path and perhaps some things were better left to their own devices.

She gasped and turned to leave, finding herself thrust to the floor with a heavy weight on her, wrapping its warm, dark hands around her waist before the loud crackling boom popped her eardrums and sent her and the mysterious shield tumbling away.

The ground had cracked and the surface had shattered, but somehow stayed in its place.

She gagged and coughed, quickly noticing the singed, bleeding and cut skin on her hands and face. It was all that had come her way, along with torn garments, but that seemed to be the least of her problems.

A low groan came from beside her and she lifted her head to spot the badly burned and scraped shield that had been Cyrin.

Her eyes went wide and she felt a cold chill grip the base of her spine and churn her stomach. "Cyrin!" She cried and crawled to him, rolling the Jedi Master onto his back.

His forehead had been cut and pockmarked with soot and cuts.

She couldn't tell if he had sustained any other injuries, but from the way he was breathing, the Chancellor was able to determine that he was all right, despite the fact he had absorbed the brunt of the burst.

She ran a hand through her mussed hair and quickly took Cyrin's hand before she glanced to the area around her.

Several people had lain still on the ground, whilst others slowly rose.

Sirens were on its way and before long, they had arrived, assisting the wounded before Forn guided her eyes to where the burst had occurred.

Right where the large, crudely dome shaped hospital stood was a large smoldering hold and a hovering heavy fighter of some sort towering over it.

Though the hospital wasn't destroyed, a large part of it was missing, and a figure in black had already rappelled into the smoldering entrance.

She glanced back at Cyrin and once more to the hospital before making her decision.

As wounded as the Jedi Master was, paramedics would attend to him.

She removed a hold-out blaster from a holster on her ankle and she raced towards the entrance, ignoring the warnings of several Coruscanti police officers.

* * *

Jolee shook his head, mesmerized by the tenacity of the obvious Dark Jedi that had locked him out.

For whatever reasons even _he_ couldn't fathom, the unknown assassin was targeting the tank that carried Visas. Whether or not the mysterious figure wanted her dead remained to be seen; but one thing was for certain: the wily old Jedi Master wouldn't see it happen. He had placed too much effort on guiding the Miraluka from her ethereal prison and it would all be for naught in just a few short moments.

Jolee plunged his lit lightsaber into the mechanism's lock and continued to drive it through until he felt the satisfying sizzle of electrical circuits. To his surprise, the door whooshed open, and the figure still stood before the tank, transfixed on her almost angelic posture within the healing fluid.

The figure's armoured hands touched the glass for a moment, admiring her figure in the green-lit water and ignored the Jedi Master's presence. The flickering lights and surrounding dim area from where he had entered only seemed to exaggerate Visas' posture and for a brief moment, he almost considered taking the Miraluka for himself.

That was until an invisible fist punched the air from his lungs and sent him crashing into another wall, blowing several more lights around him.

"I don't think I like that look in your eyes, laddie." Jolee narrowed his eyes and took up a defensive posture while slowly moving towards the seemingly unharmed tank. "Back away from the floating lady."

The figure grunted, and rose, dusting off the few remaining rocks and pebbles along his suit of armour. "Nice punch—the first one's free. Leave now and I might consider sparing your life." He glanced over to the tank and then back towards the old man. "The woman is mine to do with what I will. Interfere and I will make the last few moments of your life very painful."

A dry chuckle escaped the man's lips. "You have no idea who you're dealing with, do you laddie?"

"The Seer is mine alone," the figure reiterated. "You had your chance—I'll make sure to let Ravenmoon know you send your condolences."

The old man was taken back for a moment and it was all the assassin needed.

He lunged at Jolee, wielding a strange sword with serrated edges that seemed parted.

It didn't take the old man long to realize that the blade was just as deadly as a lightsaber, especially when its gaps emitted a blue pulse of energy that matched his sword's intensity.

Their blades clashed for a moment before they leapt back, and once more, the assassin moved on the offensive, thrusting at the old man and launching a series of critical strikes aimed for his joints.

Jolee blocked each strike and found himself pushed back. The old man had found himself in numbers of scenarios such as the one he faced and knew that it was only a matter of time before the young man slipped up. He cursed himself silently for the minor lapse in judgment at the mention of Ravenmoon—it might have been a gamble for all he knew.

The assassin pirouetted and lashed out with a slash that would have severed Jolee's torso in half, only to be blocked by the Jedi.

The Jedi Master expertly blocked the slash and with the flick of his wrist he arced his lightsaber upwards, hoping to split the man's face in two.

The assassin leapt back and countered with a kick to the Master's stomach, followed by a roundhouse kick across Jolee's chin.

Jolee sprawled across the floor and forced himself to regain balance. His world was further distorted from the Force-shove that sent him crashing through another kolto tank. His crash was cushioned by the body that was contained in the tank.

Jolee rose and shook his head, attempting to shake off his blurred sight.

The assassin commanded the large lid of the kolto tank to open and hurled it in Jolee's direction, taking in the gratifying groan that followed in its wake.

Through the Force, he touched the apparently lifeless body of the Miraluka and gripped it, taking in the contours of her full body and setting aside those sudden carnal desires. He had a job to do and he had lost much of the uses of his body—regardless of what biological processes his body still endured. He gripped her body and began to levitate her body from the tank, until a whirring sound caused him to lose grip.

He turned in time to be greeted with the very same lid he had used to hurl at Jolee.

The old man rose, albeit shakily and reactivated his lightsaber, surprised to find it still in his grip. The emerald shaft of light blazed into existence and he sluggishly made his way towards Visas. His right ankle ached badly causing him to limp, which only led him to suspect he had twisted it. His right shoulder had been dislocated from the flying lid and it ached even more now that he had popped it back into place.

For all his worth, Jolee hadn't groaned in pain—he had earned his fair share so many years ago and knew that this was just the tip of the iceberg. It still hadn't stopped the old man from muttering many curses, however, and Jolee ignored the many aches in his body as they came from each movement from his limbs.

"What's your name, sonny?" He still limped towards Visas, hoping that now would be a good time for some help.

If any was forthcoming, it certainly didn't show itself in the Force, and yet again, Jolee suppressed the string of curses on his lips.

The assassin surprisingly moved the heavy lid with remarkable ease, leaving the old man to guess that his arms were prosthetics.

"Dorman."

It was all the reply he received.

"Well then, Dorman," the battered old man started, wincing at the stinging cut that ran from the outside of his lip to deep inside his mouth. _So that was that metallic taste—beats eating some durasteel hinge_. "I have a proposition for you: leave now and I won't hunt you down. Stay here, and you will die from the countless holes that is about to fill your body from when I shove this up your—"

Jolee never finished his sentence from the burst of something hot that struck him across his head.

The old man spun from the force of the blast and collapsed as a meaty sack.

"You talk too much," Dorman mustered, rising and ejecting the bolt from his wrist. The tranquilizer dart would last a while, but it was all he could take with him—his sword lay too far away.

The assassin managed to rise and call his sword into hand, sheathing it behind him and glancing back at Visas.

Much to his surprise, the Miraluka's body didn't seem fazed by the little duel he had partaken in. He shook his head and knew that the old man had taken great strides in ensuring that his attention was focused away from her.

_Still,_ he wondered, _she seems almost as if she were an angel. Little wonder that Ravenmoon was enthralled by her presence. If I ever meet the Voice, I'll be sure to thank him before I kill him._ He gazed at her near-naked form and watched as she floated peacefully.

Her hair had grown longer and seemed to float around her as if she were very much ethereal.

Dorman shook his head once more and touched the tank.

A streak of scarlet light glanced off his shoulder, spinning him around to face a new threat.

At the end of a smoke barrel stood an older woman, slightly bruised, wearing the clothes of a Republican senator and graying hair that seemed to accentuate her handsome features.

"Get away from her," the woman's strong voice barked.

The assassin rolled his eyes, unseen behind his black helm. "Lady, I beat a Jedi, what makes you think you can stand against me?"

Forn took aim and squeezed another blast, which Dorman promptly evaded, rolling across the debris stricken floor.

Dorman rolled upright and extended his fist.

Nothing came.

Forn took aim again and collapsed the moment she felt the pinch at her neck. The world suddenly went black and she heard ringing of a shell casing somewhere in far away.

The assassin sighed and made his way towards the tank, hoping there would be no one else to interrupt him.

Still in her immaculate cocoon, the Miraluka floated aimlessly within the tank, her arms spread open as if she were some heaven-sent sightless angel.

Captivated and revolted at once, Dorman removed a small disc shaped object and attached it to the tank. He stared at her deeply and his hand still held on to the little object as if it were somehow forced there against his will.

He took in her every feature, the curvature of her lips, her body, the way she appeared so surreal yet tangible.

He steeled himself for the moment and whispered, "alas, it was never meant to be, my dear."

He let go of the little disc, which began to blink green and slowly pick up the pace until it appeared as just a solid green light.

Grabbing his grapnel hook, the assassin stole off quietly into the night, leaving behind the carnage he wrought within the hospital. He accomplished his task, though it ached him as silently as he left.

_Nothing that beautiful should be allowed to suffer such a horrendous fate._

* * *

The sky was a deep haze of gold laced with scarlet ribbons which stretched as far as the eye could see. Not a single puff of white clouds graced the aberrant sky, or a single tinge of natural luminescence that would have heralded the markings of the bright sun that lit the way.

Everything around her seemed unnatural, as if it were corrupted by the graceless gesture of some strange entity. With such corruption in her midst, it seemed ironic that it appeared just as beautiful as anything else. It didn't help the fact that this was one of her recent gifts: to see a world where her eyes could not truly see the tangible.

Around the world seemed tangible—every grain of sand, every whisper from the wind.

She found it interesting that as a Seer, she could not conceive of the tangible, though she stood in the middle of things so real that her soft, slender hand caressed the rough, cracked stone of the archway's surface.

It stood before her, bathed in the same golden rust as the sand itself, worn with time, buried beneath the planet as a silent tomb.

Perhaps it was, but it hardly mattered to her.

Visas was stuck in a world that changed with each whim the Force willed.

She had once witnessed the lush greeneries of Kashyyyk, seen the hidden Massassi Temples buried beneath the growth of Yavin IV and many other wondrous worlds that hid many ancient secrets aching to leave their prisons.

Like those ancient secrets and tombs she had come to witness, Visas knew that she had founds those just like herself, trapped in the boundless prison that was her mind.

The wind rustled, picking up with a tempo that belied the surface of dead Korriban, and Visas turned around to see.

The sky was changing—the sun was setting and night time was beginning to fall.

Darkness threatened to ensnare her vision and almost at once, Visas brought a hand to her face, touching thin skin that protected the round bulbous jelly that had not existed for so long. She closed her eyes on instinct, surprised at the reaction that was not her own.

She could feel the wind rising as its whispers took up a howl, growing in its desperation, ruffling her violet robes and whisking sand around her. Visas allowed herself a careful glance into the tomb before her, knowing the archway was but the first step.

_Enter._

A voice whispered along the wind.

_Do not be afraid, your journey takes you to the next step. _

The voice beckoned her and the battered stone doors parted before Visas as if expecting her.

_Enter, Seer._

Visas took a step back, both unsure of what lay before her and whether that meant forsaken her body in the tangible world.

_The next step in your journey lay beyond the confines of this world. _

Once, unquestioning and loyal to her Masters, she would have followed forth, yet a cold sinking feeling pitted itself in her stomach. Where ever the path lay, Visas knew that she could never venture back.

She opened her mouth to reply, pausing momentarily as no words were forthcoming.

The reply that followed were the echoes of steps coming from deep inside the tomb.

"Do not fear the path that lay before you, Visas," a quiet alluring voice intoned. "It will take you from the confines of this realm and lead you into the next. Here you will discover the true nature of the Force you serve."

The voice grow louder and far more clearer as the figure neared and almost at once, Visas was blessed with the sight of the figure. She couldn't help it as her eyes were drawn to the shape and almost without hesitation; she studied the woman before her.

Blue skin, a white gown and head tails that ran down to the small of her back.

The woman before Visas was of the twi'lek species, and almost at once she bowed, extending her arm.

"Will you not take my hand?" She asked almost serenely.

Visas didn't know what compelled her—whether it was the vision of the young woman before her or whether it was the reassurance of another like her, she was not sure—as she took the hand of the woman.

"I will be your guide and together we will explore these depths."

As one, both women entered the tomb and Visas quietly asked, "what is your name?"

The woman's reply was quick and simple. "Rin."

Visas knew she had ascended beyond the confines of her body and mind.

Somehow, with just her guide holding her by the hand, Visas knew that her body had finally given out and she would never return.


	8. From the Stars and Into Oblivion

_From the Stars and Into Oblivion _

He was breathing hard, trying his best to ignore the pain in his ribs and the bruises that threatened to overwhelm him. He made his way to the cockpit, where his roguish companion continued to evade the inbound flight traffic that was heading towards their recent venture.

"How far are we from Nar Shaddaa?" Dante asked, climbing into the copilot's chair beside Atton, who continued his devilish tricks as he rolled between a score of freighters.

It took the Jedi a considerable amount of effort to strap in, knowing that it was only by the good graces of Atton that the inertial dampers had not failed on his high speed daredevil piloting. This also meant that Dante didn't find himself walking on the ceiling nor rolling around the confines of their ship.

"Well," he began, shifting the yoke and quickly pulling it to his chest, "I'd say our distance to Nar Shaddaa is not a problem. I'd say it's the Hutt patrol cruisers and that handful of Sith and Syndicate fighters on our tail that might be our problem."

Dante clenched his jaw and activated the navcomputer, hoping to select a target. "We need to make a jump, Rand."

"Are you kidding me?" Atton slammed the yoke to his left and towards his knees. "Right now I'm a little busy here, since a certain someone decided to upset the Syndicate and its thugs."

"I was trying to buy us some time for our escape—and it worked didn't it?"

"What? The escape? If you decided that having the Sith chasing us wasn't hard enough, you could have mentioned something to me rather than getting the Syndicate to join in on the fun."

Dante rolled his eyes and focused on the navcomputer, hunting for coordinates they so desperately needed. "Shut up and pilot, Rand. Let's hope you're as good as it as you say."

"You're still alive, aren't you?" The scoundrel quipped, steering the ship in a series of gut-wrenching turns and twists.

"I have it on good authority that you have a tendency to crash your flights." Dante punched in coordinates in the navcomputer, hoping he made the right choice. As far as he was concerned, their only chance was to make a jump far away from Hutt space and from the pincer grip of the Exchange. "Get ready to make the jump," he ordered. Dante took a deep breath as he locked the navcomputer, sealing the finality of that order.

"Are you crazy? We'll end up in the middle of nowhere!" Atton looked at the Jedi as if he were out of his mind.

"It's the best chance we have of losing them and I intend to take it." The tone of Dante's voice spoke of the finality of the subject.

The ship rattled from the stray blasts from their pursuers.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Dante, because if we so much as waltz into a lumbering group of pirates, we won't stand a chance."

"Just do it, Atton and let's hope I made the right choice."

Gritting his teeth, the pilot rested his hand on the lever before him, squeezing the security knob and shunting the lever forward.

Shutting his eyes, Atton didn't see the stars streak as they made the jump to lightspeed.

* * *

Rena woke with a startle, brought back to the world with the sharp sting of pain that coursed through her arms, legs and finally to her chest. She shot looks at both sides of her, seeing several metallic shapes in her returning vision, along with a pair of figures, one of which was in a white garb associated with medical personnel.

The other figure, Rena recognized instantly and sheer loathing filled her.

Even as the blur began to sharpen and eventually reveal details, Rena could tell Lotus had been assigned to the medical bay to ensure they would not die.

The assassin's dour expression said as much.

She fought back the vindictive enjoyment of Lotus' annoyance, and instead focused on sitting up from the metallic slab the doctors called a medical bed. She almost fell when reality became surreal and she brought a hand to rub her sore head, jolted from the movement. Rena glanced down and looked back at Lotus with a hint of minor annoyance. "Are the cuffs really necessary?"

The silver-haired assassin allowed a half-hearted smile and replied, "just following protocol. I figured a Jedi apprentice, of all people, would appreciate a strict rigid code."

She looked back at the assassin with disdain and sighed. "Very funny—I won't fight. You've all seen to that."

Lotus looked on with an unconvinced expression and finally, after another moment, she nodded to the white clad doctor and towards the door. Sliding open, a pair of Sith soldiers arrived, along with a trio of droids armed with heavy repeating blasters.

Rena observed the armoured figures and looked back at Lotus. "Prepared for all eventualities, I take it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be so vain. I've been ordered to keep an eye on you and ensure no harm comes to you _unless_," she stressed the importance of the last word, "you try to turn on us."

"I see that your Masters keep a tight leash on you, their little watchdog."

The assassin snarled and closed the gap between her and the still bound Jedi. "Rest assured, if you weren't so needed by both the Masters and me, I'd see you dead."

The young Jedi appeared unimpressed, biting back the cold lump in her throat and steadying her beating heartbeat. Lotus had caught her unnerved and now she had to ensure that it did not go noticed. "Strong words coming from someone whose threats are made behind a safe barrier."

"They're not idle," Lotus spat, walking out of the medical bay. "Just make sure you don't go wandering all by your lonesome. Dante would hate to see you cut to ribbons before he came for you."

The young Corellian opened her mouth, only to be silenced when the door hissed shut, leaving her still bound and in the company of armed guards. She stifled the string of curses and looked at the white figure, an older man—human and no more than 40 years of age by her count.

"She's a demon, that one," he muttered in a deep, raspy voice. He coughed and hobbled over to a console several feet away from the medical bed. "You'd do well to stay out of her way when she's upset. More so now than before—especially since she's been so used up."

She sighed and looked around. She could tell from the man's gait that he had suffered tremendous injuries somewhere. Most likely some battlefield, from another time. He had the age and enough time to have suffered the damage associated with living with his wounds.

The guards stood watching, silent and grim as their dark armour, and beside them stood the droids, who showed more humanity than the guards. They paced back and forth, cradling their blasters with ruthless dedication.

Rena quickly calculated her chances of escaping, knowing that she'd have to convince the doctor to unbind her, and using her recovering strength, overpower the guards and droids.

She frowned and pursed her lips, waiting for the chance.

The older man turned to face her and all chances the young apprentice may have had evapourated.

His face was worn, gnarled on one side and relatively smooth on the other. One eye was milky white, forcing it to be covered with a prosthetic lens, which contrasted exceptionally with his brown eye. His hair was shock white, not a single ounce of colour stood on his head. He allowed himself a smile, revealing sharpened teeth and said, "you're not feeling up to talking? You seemed up to it earlier."

He frowned when there was no answer.

"I see that you don't want to chat then." He turned to walk, pausing and smiling when Rena stopped him.

"I don't know your name," she said simply.

He turned to face her and shrugged simply. "I have no name to give you."

"So what does everyone call you?"

He smiled and simply said, "doctor."

She shuddered at his smile and at the reference.

The smile was toothy, cold and very predatory. His voice grated on her nerves for the single word, almost as if he drawled on a regular basis.

"You must be Rena," he said at last, moving back to the console. "Lotus spoke much about you—in fact, much about your apparent Master."

Rena was stunned. She narrowed her eyes and looked at the old man, who seemed content to study readings on the console he worked so diligently on. "I believe Lotus gave you the authority to release me from this so-called security precaution."

The old man nodded. "You're quite right, my dear, but if I were to release you, how would I not know if you were going to try and overpower me and escape? What's more, how would I know if you were going to stay and chat?"

Rena paused for a moment. The old man was right and she undoubtedly knew that he had figured this out long before even Lotus had. In fact, Rena almost counted on the fact that Lotus was ready and waiting outside for just that very thing.

To kill her as she attempted to escape would sound very plausible, especially since the Sith credo was to kill or be killed.

"All right,' Rena said at last, trying to maintain her composure, "you have my word."

The old man chuckled, another grating sound that raked her nerves. "Your 'word.' How can I trust the word of a Jedi when the Sith are no different?" He turned to look at her, smiling mirthlessly. "No, I don't want your word. I want something more _real_. Something that I know meant that you wouldn't attempt to escape here and cost me my life."

"I won't kill you—in fact; I will do absolutely nothing here. I can give you something real." She studied his face more carefully and after another while asked, "how were you wounded?"

The old man snarled and looked away. "You're still staying put, young girl. I can't afford to have you running about in my medical bay."

"That's why you have the guards," she replied smoothly.

"What good are guards against a Jedi?" He snorted. "They might as well leave."

Rena stared hard at the old man's back. "You still haven't answered me."

He sighed and continued paying attention to the console.

She stared harder and put strength into her voice, "You _will_ tell me."

The old man let out a deep bellowed laughter, turning around and staring hard at the young woman. "You think that I would be here if I weren't impervious to Jedi mind tricks? They work on the weak-minded, fool child, not the strong, twisted and experienced."

Rena sighed, slighted and crushed. The mind trick wouldn't work, perhaps if she poured all her strength into it, but she cast the thought aside. She needed to conserve her strength. She was still weakened from the fight and Deus still wasn't in sight.

_Deus!_ Her head shot up and she looked around, examining each and every kolto tank in her view. Unfortunately for her, the kolto tanks were all over the medical bay, ranging from one side of the large chamber to the other side. Medical beds filled a quarter of the space, and consoles and science stations filled the rest. "Where's my brother?" She demanded.

The old man's face lit up and he smiled again. "Your brother? Ah, the male clone." The old man moved away and started to walk away from her, leaving Rena to herself. "He's quite all right—for the most part. For someone so adept at fighting and from what I hear, using the Force, he took quite the sucker-punch."

"What?" She hissed. "Release me, doctor, I need to see him."

The old man hovered close to her face, his rank breath hot on her face, forcing Rena to stifle the churning of her stomach and the rising of bile in her throat. "As I said, I need something to trust. I need some sort of…collateral."

She grimaced and saw the twinkle in his eye. "Tell me of your wound," she whispered, hoping that she still had the strength to hold the bile from reaching her mouth. "Tell me how you suffered. I could offer you something no one ever could." Her oceanic blue eyes filled with a spark of human emotion and vulnerability that pushed the old man to pause.

He stepped back and walked towards the console. "What can you offer me that no one else could?"

"A chance to heal."

He cast a sour glance in her direction and tapped a console. "You may leave us," he said to the guards, who at last, left without uttering a single word.

Rena felt the freedom from both her tangible and intangible shackles and rose, losing her balance for a moment before she could steady herself. After a few more moments of rubbing her wrists and shaking the nausea from her head, the young woman looked at the old man.

He sat down on one of the medical cots and buried a hand in one of his pockets, fiddling with whatever lay inside for a few moments before he brought it out into the light.

Rena watched the older man sit down with a sliver of some metallic instrument.

"I once fought for a galaxy I knew nothing about," he began. "It started with those damned Mandalorians and eventually, it brought us to a war with the Republic."

He looked up at Rena and continued.

"I was a healer once, for the Republic. A galactic alliance that truly meant nothing to us all. They turned their backs on us and Revan welcomed us with open arms. We fought in trenches against the Mandalorians on some backwater world. I was treating a wounded heavy infantryman when the shell came down on us. It exploded, lighting up some of the flammable materials we use, but the shell was closer to my workstation. The infantryman's body protected most of my body from the blast, but, the damage was done."

He ran the sliver along his pockmarked face. "My eye was torn, my ligaments and bones in my leg were shattered and my face was a portrait of the battlefield. They pulled this from my side and now I am a mess. When we went back to the Republic, they treated most of us wounded as if we were nothing. We weren't covered for our expenses, medical needs and other essentials."

She looked in awe of the old man. "So you went back to Revan?"

He nodded. "At least with Revan and Malak, we were welcomed back as heroes and taken care of as best as could be given. But then the war came and Malak turned on Revan. Those of us that represented Revan's might left elsewhere. We had followed Revan to uncharted places, where we returned to our new birthright. The Empire that has given us everything we could ever ask for."

"And now? You're here because you want to be?"

The old man looked at her and smiled. "This is my job—my only life. I am a cripple that heals others. Imagine that."

She nodded and after another moment, she looked at the tanks. "What did Lotus tell you of my Master?"

The old man grinned, revealing his fanglike teeth and waved a finger. "As I recall, you said you could help me heal."

Rena nodded. "And we've begun the task, but I need to know some things."

"Of course, quid pro quo."

"What did she tell you?"

"He is someone the Masters want to keep an eye on."

Rena furrowed her brow. "Why's that? I thought that they wanted us in their grand scheme?"

He chuckled and replied, "that's part of their plans. They have so many, for every eventuality. I've heard whispers that your Master may yet be of some use to the old Masters. Something about an ancient ability or weapon that they need to unlock. Biometrics and all."

Still puzzled, Rena stretched out with her senses, wrapping invisible tendrils around the old man and found that he was telling the truth. It was everything that had been told and summed up for her to know. There was no point in asking why, and so, the young Jedi didn't.

She sighed and tried to store the information away for later knowledge. Perhaps when she escaped, she would ask Dante regarding it. For now, despite her flutter at the thought of reuniting with him, she had to focus on the tasks at hand.

"I believe it is my turn," the old man whispered in Rena's ear, prompting the young woman to recoil at the surprise of the old man's proximity to her.

"You will need to remove your prosthetic lens," she answered, trying to appear as if she were unperturbed. She forcibly composed herself, idly straightening her tunic and keeping her eyes on the old man. She couldn't afford to have him act as quickly again.

"Of course," he replied. He brought his hand to his temple, lightly depressing several keys and preparing himself to remove his prosthetic when he paused.

Rena furrowed her brow and bit her lower lip. "Second thoughts?"

The old man shook his head, tapped several new key sequences and lowered his hand. "I'm sorry, but I must be blunt. I cannot trust you. I have had Jedi healers and specialists all over the galaxy claim that they could assist me, yet they could do nothing. What separates you from them?"

She couldn't help but smile ear-to-ear. "I'm a clone of Revan. I have his strength, his abilities. I have his determination and my singular wit."

He appeared unconvinced. "If you really do have a sliver of his strength as you so claim, you'd be able to completely heal me. I do not know if you are true in your abilities." He rose from the cot and limped over to a tank several feet away from where Rena stood.

"I do not have a sliver," she bristled. "I have his strength—his abilities! I can help you."

He nodded slowly, absentmindedly at first, while he gazed at the tank and finally, he pointed to it. "If you're as strong as they say, then you will have to show me how adept your abilities are." He turned to face Rena, his voice not wavering for a moment as he ordered, "heal him."

Rena walked slowly towards the old man, unsure of what he now proposed. "Who is he?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Rena walked to the tank, pausing and taking in the sight of the half-naked figure floating angelically in the life-saving fluids.

He floated there, his entire face covered in a helm that ensured he could breathe. Dark marks along his wide chest and powerfully sculpted abdomen seeped with a fluid that resembled a thickness only associated with blood.

His eyes were closed and his expression remained remarkably serene, as if he were content to never awaken from his slumber.

She paused and opened her mouth in shock, bringing her hands to cover it.

"He's your brother."

* * *

The world of Yavin was unremarkable and uninhabitable. The fact it was a red gas giant was what made the world so inhospitable; however the planet did have its fair share of moons. Of the three moons, Yavin IV was the only one worth something to those who were aware of its hidden treasures.

Of course, this hardly mattered to Dante and Atton, who had landed in one of the large pyramid shaped ruins along the dense jungle moon. Their only intent was to ensure that they remained hidden until they could effectively determine the next best location to continue their search.

Atton kicked at a small stone along the densely covered grass. The blades rose as high as his hips: perfect cover for any predator stalking its prey. That very thought sent shivers down his spine. The rogue didn't care for many things, but his life certainly wasn't one of those things. "Any luck on your divine interpretation as to why we're in the middle of nowhere?"

Dante sat quietly perched along a large stone, eyes closed and sensing the Dark Side presence that shrouded the entire surface of Yavin. "This planet is strong in the Dark Side of the Force, Atton. It makes excellent cover for us—we don't want to be found."

"I thought the goal was to find our friends, not go into hiding from a bunch of angry thugs."

Dante paused to open his eyes and glance over at Atton, who stood fuming with his arms crossed over his chest. "The Sith are hardly thugs. They managed to kill many of our friends, and you would do well to remember that fact."

_Oh I remember, all right,_ the scoundrel bit back. As much as he had begun to get over the fact of his dark past, it seemed to catch up with him at the worst times. And as much as he was beginning to like Dante, the last few months of uneventful searching had begun to take its toll. He knew he was getting edgy—impatient and desperate in wanting to find Theresa. She was somewhere out there, in the galaxy fighting Revan or fighting with him.

Dante seemed to believe that she was fighting alongside the former Dark Lord, but Atton wasn't so sure. Even with the timely arrival of the Mandalorians and the so-called 'Lost Jedi,' the fight had been brought to a standstill until the Jedi Remnant had managed to use Bastila's Battle Meditation.

Even then, the costs were high.

And when the Lost Jedi returned to the Order, they merely asked for reinforcements that even the Order couldn't give. There were just too few and of all the times, Dante took off with him in tow.

He left Visas behind, to face some cruel fate living in a tank for Force-knows how long.

When he thought about it, the ex-assassin began to ponder whether or not it was right to follow Dante and not wait until Visas—who was _far_ more connected to Theresa than the lost-puppy Jedi—recuperated.

In fact, the only thing that the Jedi Knight that sat before him seemed intent on was merely the safe return of his Apprentice who had most likely turned and well into her way to the path of Sith Lord.

Atton shook his head, suddenly unsure of where his thoughts were taking him. _This world is strong in the Dark Side of the Force_, he remembered Dante saying just a few short moments ago. He shuddered at that thought.

His mind was still open to even the crudest form of suggestion.

He didn't want to go back to what he had been before.

He didn't want to ever face that road in his life ever again.

Fighting down the trepidation over the fact that he could be easily manipulated by something so raw and unseen, he spoke up. "Maybe you're right, but we're still no better in a position than we were in Nar Shaddaa. We need to find a way to get back on the road."

Dante smirked and closed his eyes again before he spoke once more. "My old Master would have once said that we should carry on and let the Force guide us. When the Force deems it so, we can do nothing but wait until it reveals a path before us."

"Sounds like the laziest Jedi I've ever heard of. He kick back with a few one-too-many while he was training you?"

Dante glared at him, a fury rising higher than he had expected at such a brash comment. He contemplated running the scoundrel through with his lightsaber until he pulled away from the nearly enticing thought.

Almost at that very thought, Atton narrowed his eyes and seemed intent on wanting to encourage that challenge, puffing out his chest for a moment then thinking the better of it.

"I'm sorry," he said lamely, "I didn't mean to offend you."

Dante nodded and replied, "no, I overreacted exceptionally. The Dark Side here is strong indeed. So much that even with Jedi training I might have given in to your challenge." He lifted himself from the rock and casually dusted himself off. "We need to leave this planet, but…" he trailed off.

In the back of his mind, a sound that bordered on a wailing screech resonated and caused him to perk his head up.

Far up high, in the blue sky large avian creatures fluttered away and towards several hundred-foot trees.

He looked back at Atton and noticed he had done the exact same thing.

Returning Dante's stare, he offered, "maybe the Force has just shown us a path we need to follow."

Dante pursed his lips and nodded. "Maybe you're right." He looked back at the trees where the avian creatures fluttered away from and out of sight. _Or maybe I read too much into things._ He felt that lurch within the Force. A disturbance great enough to catch the attention of many Force-sensitive species for light-years around.

His heart pounded in his ears for an eternity and he felt something jittering against his lightsaber. Eyes lowering to his hips, Dante saw his hand shaking.

Whatever had caused that disturbance, it was enough to unnerve the Jedi Knight.


End file.
